


every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Darcy Lewis, Brainwashing, F/M, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Hostage Situations, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post CATWS / AU] </p><p>Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too. In theory, that's easy; in reality, not so much. Darcy Barnes? Currently a brainwashed killing machine bent on returning her husband to HYDRA's clutches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wrinkle in the Plan

**I.**

When Steve finally tracked him down, it was eight months of intense searching. It was a constant race to the next site he might've,  _possibly_ , been seen. Street cameras and satellite footage would put him in some foreign city, the information passed on from Tony or Natasha, so he and Sam would pack up and chase down the lead, only to come up empty-handed. There were a few times that he could almost taste victory; that he swore the dust was still settling from Bucky having left just minutes before they arrived. But it didn't matter how quickly they got the information or how swiftly they reacted to it, they always showed up too late.

He refused to lose hope. Even when Sam tried to be realistic with him, warning him that he had no idea who he would find if he did manage to catch up to Bucky, and that if Bucky was keeping ahead of him, maybe he wasn't ready to be found. Steve couldn't accept that. Bucky might be struggling to understand himself, but that was all the more reason for Steve to find him. The more Bucky remembered, the more confused he probably was. Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky; now he could return the favor.

The day he finally found him, he almost didn't believe his eyes. They'd tracked him down to a dingy motel room in a small town in Portugal. He and Sam snuck up on either side of the door, prepared for Bucky to run, to fight them off and try to escape. Even more prepared to open the door to the motel and find it empty, just like every one before it.

Steve dug out the key he'd gotten off the guy at the front desk and turned the lock on the door, as slowly and as quietly as he could. He swung it open, tense and prepared for disappointment. Instead of an empty room, however, he found a hunched figure at a table, his head bowed over papers and pictures, folders spread out all over, a bottle of vodka not far from reach. A ceiling fan did a pathetic job of cooling the room down, leaving it over warm, the air stagnant. Bucky seemed to have passed out where he sat, dressed in a white tank top and a ratty pair of jeans, his boots still on, as if he was prepared to flee at any given moment.

Steve frowned, glancing back at Sam, who shrugged at him, following him inside quietly and closing the door behind them.

As soon as the closing click of the door was heard, Bucky snapped awake, his eyes opening abruptly as he leapt from his chair, grabbing a gun from beside him and aiming it at them, his expression wild and fierce.

Steve's breath caught in his throat for a moment. He could remember, vividly, seeing him for the first time in Washington. Realizing that this was Bucky, his best friend, trying to kill him. He'd watched the footage of their fight, over and over, watched as the muzzle fell away and a face he knew as well as his own stared back at him. But even knowing that, some part of him still tried to convince him that it was in his head, that he shouldn't get his hopes up, that no, it couldn't possibly have been Bucky. This whole goose chase was pointless, because his best friend was long dead. But there he was, staring him in the eye again. He was exhausted, his cheeks sunken and dark bags under his eyes, his beard had grown out and he didn't look like he'd eaten or slept in too long, but it was him. Even if his eyes were wary and his body was poised with paranoid uncertainty.

He didn't shoot. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Or maybe Steve was just trying desperately to believe that this was still Bucky, underneath all of the HYDRA programming. He'd saved his life, hadn't he? Dragged him out of the drink and left him alive for the right people to find. He didn't have to do that, but he had. So some part of him had to remember. Had to know who he was, that he wasn't the enemy.

"Bucky—"

His mouth twisted up and his bionic hand flexed on the handle of the gun. "You shouldn't be here."

Steve shook his head, his hands held up in an effort to look less threatening. "We've been looking for you…" He stared at him searchingly. "We only want to help… I know things are probably…  _confusing_. You must have a lot of questions. I can help you with that. I can answer some of them. Tell you what I know."

He gritted his teeth. "I remember… a lot of it. It comes in flashes sometimes. People, faces, things I did, people I killed…"

"You weren't in control. That wasn't you."

Bucky's lip curled. "I wasn't innocent before they got their hands on me. I killed before that, too. It was just wrapped up in stars and stripes. They sell the dream the same way. You'll save the world, change it, shape it for the better. So you do it, because you wanna believe you're a good person, but sometimes… you're just a trigger man, just an asset. Nothing more."

"That's not who you are. You're more than that," Steve insisted. "Please. Bucky, who you were, before this… I remember him. I remember everything about him, everything he said, and he's still you. That person is still in you."

"You don't know that." But his arm lowered, the gun held limply at his side. "You don't know the things I've done."

"I want to." Steve stared at him earnestly. "It's not going to change anything. You'll still be you."

He shook his head, licking his lips as they trembled. "Anybody ever tell you you're reckless?" He let out a scoffing, humorless laugh. "You don't invite the killer closer, Rogers. You put him down. That's smart."

"Yeah, well, I'm stupid for the right reasons."

Bucky stared at him a long moment. "So, what? You think you can just… re-jog all of this. Put me in a shrink's chair, get this mess figured out?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If you wanna see somebody, talk to somebody about it, fine, we can do that. If you want to do something else, we'll do that. But I want you to come home… I want to help you, whatever that takes." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Just… come home, Bucky."

Bucky didn't answer, didn't agree. He turned his gaze away for a moment, staring at Sam, standing off to the side, letting them talk it out. He observed him for a few long seconds and then shifted his feet, nodded his chin toward Sam and asked, "You've been chasing him around this whole time?"

"Chasing him, getting dragged by him, depends on the day," Sam answered.

Faintly, Bucky's lips turned up. "You get used to it."

Steve smiled, relieved, nostalgic.

Bucky turned back to him, his expression a little less stressed. "I'll come back." Before Steve could get too excited, he added, "But there's a catch."

Steve nodded. "Anything."

"You're not a good poker player, are you?" Sam piped up behind him.

Steve rolled his eyes, choosing not to answer him as he raised an eyebrow at Bucky imploringly.

"I need your help finding someone… I've been hitting HYDRA safe houses, but every time I get there, they're cleaned out."

"That's how we found you," Sam said, stepping forward. "We finally caught on. SHIELD, or, well, what's left of it, they rounded up a few leftover HYDRA agents; they've been gathering intel on what they could. One of the Avengers noticed the pattern. Something about being too close to the picture to see it properly."

"Barton noticed you'd been in three different cities where known HYDRA cells were… At first he thought you were trying to go back to them, but it didn't make sense. You were an asset; they would've picked you up themselves if they knew you were close."

Bucky nodded shortly. "They have someone. I need them back."

"Who?" Sam wondered.

Before Bucky could answer, there was a noise outside, drawing their attention.

Bucky went still, his head cocked, and his eyes narrowed. "Did you tell anyone you were here?" he asked, his voice cold.

Steve frowned. "Only my team. Mandatory check-ins before we follow a lead. But they wouldn't—"

Bucky turned, walking quickly to his bed and pulling out a go-bag from beneath. He grabbed out two handguns from inside and three magazines that he slid into the pockets of his jeans. "We need to go. Now. If they've followed you—"

Sam was at the window, carefully moving the curtains aside. "We've got two SUVs, at least six guys, armed."

Steve ground his teeth together. "Is there a window in the back?"

"In the bathroom." Bucky eyed him. "But it's small.  _Too_ small."

"Guess we're going out the front." Sam pulled his own gun and flipped the safety off. "If we go now, we might be able to catch them off guard."

"You got any extra guns in there?" Steve wondered, nodding his chin down to the go-bag curiously.

Bucky looked over at him a moment, his brow knotted, and then he tossed Steve not one, but two handguns, tucking the third into his own belt before he reached inside and came up with an assault rifle.

"There could be civilians out there," Steve reminded, lips pursed.

"My aim's just fine." He walked toward the door then, armed and ready, and Steve watched as the Winter Soldier persona seemed to ripple into place. Cold, controlled, and ready for war, the man before him hardly resembled the Bucky he knew like the back of his hand. This man was blood and broken bone, metal and ice. It was hard to imagine he ever laughed or smiled or teased like he had just minutes before. And it was a startling reality; Bucky wasn't gone, but the Winter Soldier wasn't either. They were two sides of the same coin.

As the door was yanked open, Bucky stepped outside and started firing. He didn't hesitate, simply stepping forward to meet whatever came for him. Steve and Sam followed him out, flanking him, guns raised. Bucky's gun did the most damage, taking out two men before they had a chance to react to his abrupt appearance. The remaining four were smart enough to take cover.

"We need to move to the car," Sam said, tracking a pair of moving feet under an SUV but unable to get a good shot.

Steve nodded at him agreeably and they moved to the right, with a pat to Bucky's shoulder to tell him to follow.

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but lingered to shoot out the tires on one SUV while still tracking his gun across the space, waiting for anyone to show their faces. He backed up as he followed them and Steve watched his back, hesitant to take his eyes off of him.

Two of their attackers gathered their courage and stood, firing on them while still keeping mostly covered by the back end of a beat up Ford Contour. While Bucky focused his gun spray on them, a third stood and took aim. Steve fired before he could, catching him in the shoulder. He stumbled back and slumped down, out of sight.

The squealing tires of a car could be heard before Sam pulled up close to them. "Let's go. Come on."

Grabbing Bucky by the shoulder, Steve yanked him back and shoved him into the back seat of the car before climbing into the front passenger seat. Sam's foot pressed down on the accelerator and they jolted forward, peeling out of the motel parking lot and pulling onto the road. Still tense, Steve kept his eyes on the mirror, waiting to see the remaining SUV follow behind them. But the motel only grew smaller in the distance and nobody seemed to be following.

"Did you shoot the tires out on the other SUV?" Steve wondered, turning his head back to eye Bucky.

He shook his head, scowling out the window. "Just the one."

"And the two guys behind the car? You get either of 'em?" Sam asked, glancing at him through the mirror.

"Might've winged one, but he won't stay down for long. They have orders. They'll keep coming, whatever it takes." He leaned back in his seat, his gun over his lap. "You shouldn't have come. I was going to raid the warehouse tomorrow."

"So let's say you did. Let's say you went there, got inside, and they didn't empty it out…" Steve stared at him searchingly. "What then? You kill all of them? Is that what this is about? Revenge?"

Bucky raised his eyes to meet his, his expression somewhere between curious and derisive. "What if I did? What if I killed every one of them? Slit their throats, put a bullet between their eyes. You don't think they deserve it?"

"HYDRA stands for everything I hate. The things they've done, the things they  _want_ to do… I would hand you the match to burn them to the ground. But we need to be smart about this. This isn't a one-man mission. You said you wanted help finding someone. I'll help you find them. I'll help you take HYDRA down, one head at a time, but we need a plan." He frowned, looking him over. "You don't look like you've slept or eaten in days."

Bucky dropped his gaze then. "Weeks," he muttered. "I pass out sometimes. It's enough."

Steve swallowed as concern and regret burned his throat, his chest tightening. "You gotta take care of yourself first, Buck. Taking on HYDRA, it's going to happen, but you need to be at your best before you go head to head with them… And you deserve a break. A real one. Some time to… adjust."

"I don't need to take them all on. Not yet." He shook his head, wincing painfully as he turned his eyes away. "I just need one person. That's it."

"Uh, guys…" Sam said.

"Who?" Steve shook his head. "Who are you trying to find?"

" _Steve_."

Steve turned his head, irritated, only to realize Sam was staring ahead, his brows furrowed.

"Any ideas why that truck's coming at us backwards? Because my money's on 'incoming enemy.'"

Steve frowned, turning forward in his seat and stared at the truck coming center down the road. Before he could offer an idea, the truck came to a stop. It was far enough ahead there was plenty of space between them, which only caused more confusion.

Sam slowed down to a stop, reaching for the gear shift, but just as he did, he looked up, a heavy sigh leaving him. "Look who finally caught up."

Steve looked back to see the remaining SUV approach from behind; his eyes darted between the two trucks and then to his left at an open field. "We either try to drive past them, get out and fight, or make a run for it," he said.

The back door opened abruptly and Bucky climbed out, gun in hand.

"Guess that answers that," Sam muttered before shoving his own car door open. "This was a rental, remember? Under  _my_ name."

Steve rolled his eyes at him.

Sam shoved out of the car, looking back at the SUV that had also stopped an oddly far distance back. He frowned, turning to Steve. "That suspicious to you, too?"

Steve's lips thinned out. "Yeah, it is."

A man in combat gear suddenly appeared outside of the long one-ton truck ahead, unarmed. He didn't pause before moving to the back and gripping a large, steel handle, pulling it to one side until it unlocked, releasing the catch on the door. He gripped it by the bottom and gave it an upward shove before walking to side and reaching for a chain, manually drawing the door up and out of the way. Steve squinted, but all he could see was empty, dark space inside. And then a boot appeared and a figure stepped out, dressed much like Bucky had in Washington; black fitted cargo pants and leather, padded vest in place, straps, pockets and a belt holding various weapons. But there was no muzzle on this one, no familiar face staring back at him either.

She was young. Mid-twenties, he estimated. Dark hair tied back in a French braid, a few loose curls draped down her face. She stepped off the back of the truck and landed with her feet braced. Her eyes took them in, quick and calculating, assessing them and their strengths and weaknesses in what appeared to be little more than a glance.

The man who released her took one step forward, but even from where he was standing Steve could see the man's hands shaking.

"Go. Attack," the man ordered, trying, and failing to sound commanding.

Her eyes darted to the man, pinning him with a frigid stare. A long, tense moment passed. When she released her gaze from him, he seemed to breathe with relief. Reaching behind her, she slowly drew a silver axe from her back, swinging it around in her grip with expert ease.

"Is that an axe?" Sam asked, his voice full of disbelief. "She's got an  _axe_!?"

"What's that old saying?" Steve said. "Never bring an axe to a gun fight…"

"It's never bring a  _knife_ to a gunfight. That's a lot bigger than a knife!"

Steve didn't reply; instead, he watched her fingers for a moment, the grip of her axe dancing over them as it twisted and turned in a graceful sweep. His shoulders tensed, waiting for her to attack. But she pivoted to the left, hand gripping the handle tightly, and the axe sliced through the air in an arc, sinking into the chest of the man who'd released her. With a shocked, wet gasp, he choked, leaning forward, staring down at his chest. She didn't even look at him, pulling her axe free of him with a jerk.

"What are the odds that was her defecting to our side?" Sam wondered hopefully.

Twisting the axe around in her hands, she raised it up and leaned it against her shoulder, blood dripping down her back. Cocking her head, she stared at them, eyes narrowed.

"Small," Steve answered him, raising his gun and aiming for her, frowning when she didn't so much as flinch. In fact, she took a step forward, a dark smile turning up her lips, ready to step headfirst into enemy fire.

He ground his teeth and flipped the safety off, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a hand landed on top of his gun, lowering it abruptly.

" _Don't_ ," Bucky ordered, facing forward, his skin even paler than before, his eyes wide. "I didn't think they'd bring her…" His chest heaved as he stared, his brow furrowed, mouth set grimly as his eyes darted over her searchingly. "They must've triggered her. She doesn't know what she's doing. She's not like this. Not usually." He swallowed tightly, his face falling.

"Are we going to do something about this?" Sam asked, sounding more than a little anxious.

Steve looked forward. She was walking forward now, her axe lowered to the ground, dragging on the cement, sending up sparks.

"How good is she?" Steve asked, turning to Bucky.

He turned to face him, pausing, hesitant, and then his jaw ticked as he looked forward once more. "I trained her myself." He took a deep breath, lifting his chin. "She won't show you any mercy."

Sam raised his own gun. "I'm not getting axed. I don't care  _who_  she is."

Bucky's face transformed immediately, turning savagely protective. It was an expression Steve remembered from their childhood, only then it was Bucky standing up for him.

When Bucky raised his gun, it was pointed at Sam. "Put it down, or I'll kill you," he snarled.

Sam glanced at him, then to Steve, and back to the woman, his gun still raised and his expression set and stubborn.

Steve stared at Bucky's profile, his mind running in overdrive. "She was who you were looking for," he said, his face falling as understanding flooded through him. "You were raiding those safe houses to find her."

Bucky didn't look at him, but he did nod, brief as it was.

Steve turned, looking at the woman. Her features were more discernible now; blue eyes, full lips, beautiful, if it wasn't for the cold, fierce expression she wore. And lethal. Terrifyingly lethal.

"Who is she?" he asked. He stared into her icy eyes and saw nothing but death.

"Darcy." Bucky gritted his teeth, his voice thick as he said, "My  _wife_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody reading my prompt fills on Tumblr or here on AO3, this was originally just supposed to be a one-off, but I liked it and I had a general idea of what I wanted to do with it in a fleshed out full story. I got a lot of encouragement to continue it, so now it's going to be a longer story. I already have the next two chapters finished and the whole of it planned out. So I hope you've liked it so far and are looking forward to reading more. :)
> 
> Thanks so much reading! Please leave a review; they're my lifeblood!
> 
> \- **Lee | Fina**


	2. The Intern and the Astrophysicist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : [[Darcy](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=129918214)] | [[Jane](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=129918692)]

**II**.

"Who is she?" Steve asked.

Bucky refused to tear his attention from Wilson, who still declined to lower his weapon. "Darcy," he answered. Gritting his teeth, his voice thick with more emotion than he was comfortable sharing, he added, "My  _wife_."

There was a beat of surprise, he could feel it in the shocked swivel of Steve's face toward him, mimicked by Wilson, his brows raised and his eyes wide as he stared at Bucky.

Swallowing tightly, Bucky looked from Sam's face to his gun, which, very slowly, lowered. Bucky lingered a second more before lowering his own and turning his attention to Darcy. She was still walking toward them, hips swaying, looking dark and brutal, the sparks coming up from her axe making it all the more intense. But his gaze centered on her face. She was beautiful, she always was, but seeing her like this… seeing her humanity stripped from her and the cold, dead look in her eyes… His heart clenched in his chest.

"We need to go," Steve said, backing up a step.

"What?" Sam asked, walking closer to them. "And how do you propose we do that? We're penned in. We gonna run across the field and hope they don't mow us down?"

"We drive past the truck. Nobody's getting out… They're afraid of her."

"They  _should_ be. She just killed one of her own."

Bucky's lip curled. "They're not her team; she owes them no loyalty. He should have known better; she kills anything that's weak." Hand flexing on his gun, he muttered, "She's not supposed to be in the field alone.  _I'm_ her partner."

Steve whirled toward him. "Can you snap her out of this?"

He shook his head. "Not without the trigger word. They would've changed it to something I don't know."

"We're running out of time here," Sam told them urgently.

"We need to leave. Take our chances driving past her." Steve holstered his gun and looked to Bucky. "We have to leave her."

Bucky's expression twisted, his mouth stretched into a line. "I  _can't_." He shook his head, his eyes burning as he stared at her. She was so close… She wouldn't hurt him if he went to her. She would have orders to bring him in. He swallowed tightly, his eyes washing over her face. Was she wearing the perfume he got her in Prague? It always smelled so sweet on the crook of her neck. God, he missed her. Eight months and all he could do was miss her.

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly. "If you go with her, I don't know when we'll get you out…  _If_ we can get you out. But if you come with us, I promise you, we'll get her back…" Steve stared down at him, frantically searching his face. "She can be free, Bucky. You both can."

Bucky stared up at him, swallowed tightly, and jerked his head in a nod.

Steve hauled him backwards and shoved him into the backseat of the car. Sam hurriedly circled around to the driver's seat.

Steve stared at her a moment, coming to a stop in the road, her head tipped and her smile gone.

 _She kills anything that's weak_.

Running away would look cowardly to her.

Steve climbed in the car and slammed the door. "Go."

Sam turned the ignition, but before he could press his foot down on the ignition—"Shit!"

The front window splintered and crunched as Darcy threw her axe forward, the blade cutting through the glass.

Sam stared at it a moment, before reaching for the stick and putting it into drive. He turned the wheel and jerked the car forward, but a pair of booted feet landed on the hood of the car and the axe was suddenly pulled free.

Steve and Sam both leaned forward, peering through the spider-web of glass to see Darcy rear the axe back up and over her head. When she brought it down, it came through the roof of the car.

"This was a  _rental_ ," Sam complained under his breath before shoving his foot down on the accelerator. They flew forward and started down the road, but Darcy was still atop the car, one foot braced against the glass as she pulled her axe free and brought it down again.

When she pulled it up a third time, Sam hit the brakes. The abrupt stop forced her to slide off the hood, falling backwards, but instead of landing hard on the asphalt, she flipped mid-air and landed in a crouch, head up and a manic grin crossing her mouth.

"You really know how to pick 'em," Sam said, glancing at Bucky through the rear-view mirror before he turned the car and quickly tried to drive around her. Darcy twisted at the waist, swinging her axe around in an arch, and slammed into the side of the car. As it kept moving, the blade sliced through the steel doors like a hot knife through butter.

Steve pressed himself as far away from the door as he could, staring down at the axe and the hole it left with wide eyes.

The car kept going, accelerator pressed down as far as it would go. Sam muttered obscenities under his breath, checking over his shoulder every few seconds.

Darcy was getting smaller and smaller in the distance, standing in the middle of the road, axe over her shoulder. But then an SUV pulled forward and paused beside her. She hopped onto the side, standing on the foot ramp, a hand gripped around the rack atop the roof.

"She doesn't give up, does she?"

"She's trained not to," Bucky answered, turning in his seat to watch her. "She'll keep coming until they call her off. And they won't; they can't afford to." He looked back at Steve and asked, "So, what's your plan?"

Pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, he said, "Now we call in back-up."

"Tasha?" Sam asked, looking over at him.

Steve nodded grimly.

Bucky shifted forward in his seat, his face grim. "If any of them  _hurt_ her—"

"They won't." At Bucky's unconvinced expression, Steve sighed. "I promise you. They won't hurt her. They'll just extract us."

"Better make it soon, because she's gaining on us, and I don't think she's going to care that we're entering a very busy street," Sam said, squeezing his hands around the steering wheel.

Steve didn't answer him, instead focusing on his phone. "Hey. I need your help…"

Bucky half-listened to the conversation, turned around in his seat to peer out the back window. The wind was whipping through her hair, making her braid dance at her back, a few loose tendrils of hair slipping over her cheeks. His hand clenched around the back of his seat, his hand resting atop his knuckles. When she snapped out of this, she was going to be a mess; his heart lurched.

"—I'm just saying. The others hang back. If we can knock her out, three against one, keep her sedated until we hit New York…" Sam was saying.

Bucky shook his head. "You can't."

"It's an option," Steve said, looking back at him. "Look, I know you trained her, but if her orders are to bring you in, she might hesitate in full on attacking you. That gives us an advantage."

"You can't take her. She has a transmitter in her head; it's a multi-purpose control mechanism. It's part of what makes the brainwashing so complete; it's plugged right into her. But if she leaves, if she doesn't report in…" He gnashed his teeth. "If I tried to free her… They activate the transmitter and it blows her head from her shoulders… So no, it's not an advantage, it's signing her death warrant."

Steve stared at him a long moment. "Okay," he said quietly. "We'll figure something else out."

"How long until Natasha can pick us up?" Sam wondered.

"An hour. We need to find cover, lay low, outrun her."

"Darcy. Her name is Darcy," Bucky corrected, his hands fisting.

"Sorry.  _Darcy_ ," he emphasized.

Sam looked between them and then nodded. "Okay, we get to the market we passed on the way in, we blend with the crowd, find somewhere to hide."

Steve nodded. "It's the best plan we've got if we don't want any casualties."

Sam sped the car up, weaving in and out of other vehicles, having an easier time of it than the bulky SUV coming up behind them. The market was up ahead and he took an abrupt turn down a narrow alleyway, nearly reaching the end before stopping completely. They climbed out of the car, the doors scraping the walls on either side. Together, the three of them started forward, leaving the mouth of the alley and circling around, walking down the street toward the crowd all milling together.

Lights were strung above, vendors set up with boxes of colorful fruit and vegetables, shelves of fabrics, tables and hangers with clothing, bags, and jewelry. Voices were calling out, inviting them closer, boasting about their products. They stopped at one table to buy a few hats, overpaid, and then walked away, doing their best to hide their faces. Another vendor was various shirts; Sam grabbed up a bright red button up with short sleeves, the fabric thin to avoid the heat. He pulled it on over his undershirt and buttoned it up midway. Steve followed suit with a similarly styled green shirt, while Bucky was forced to dig around for something with long-sleeves.

A burst of noise coming from the far left told them she'd arrived; people were scattering, trying to get away from the woman wielding the axe.

Bucky, Steve and Sam calmly made their way deeper into the market, ignoring or waving off vendors as they moved with the crowd. Steve was careful not to separate from Bucky, keeping an eye on him at all times, while Sam wandered a little more, talking to vendors to keep up the ruse. Bucky kept his head down, pausing outside a table of jewelry and picking through it as if he had all the time in the world. But Steve could see the way his eyes had turned, seeking her out, scanning the crowds for her familiar face.

Steve stepped up near him, admiring the scarves in the vendor next to the one Bucky stood at, a few feet between them.

"What happens if she finds you? She drags you back to HYDRA, they wipe you, and it starts all over again…?" Steve wondered, his voice pitched low.

"Mostly."

Steve frowned, waiting for him to elaborate.

Bucky let out a faint sigh. "Sometimes they leave my memories of her… Easier to use her against me if they know I still love her."

"And other times?"

He paused for a moment, his mouth pursed, but eventually answered him. "In the beginning, when they were trying to figure out how much she influenced me, they wiped me and set me on her, testing me… She always pulled me back. So then they got smart. The freeze-program-and-wipe protocol was starting to lose its efficiency. Some of the doctors thought it would be smarter to keep me awake, convince me I was on their team. If I wasn't triggered, my memories might stay dormant. And even if they did come back, they had something to use against me… They had leverage to keep me from going rogue."

Steve grimaced. "Darcy."

Bucky ground his teeth and stretched his fingers along the chain of a gold necklace. "It's my fault… Why she's here, why she's like this… I never should have brought her into this."

Steve stared at Bucky's profile, his brow furrowed. "How'd it happen? How'd you meet?"

Gun fire could be heard then, along with screaming, and then Sam was beside them. "We need to move. Her handlers are out and they're getting impatient."

Steve nodded grimly and turned to walk up the street, quicker this time. Sam and Bucky followed at his back.

"Did you just steal that necklace?" Sam asked.

"That's the least of my sins," Bucky answered.

* * *

There was a house high up on a hill; the people who lived there looked like they'd packed up and left on vacation. Newspapers piled outside was the first sign. They let themselves in and did a sweep of the house, finding it empty, and then barricaded the front and back door just to be sure. Leaving the lights off and staying away from the windows, they collected in the living room. Steve texted Natasha, who traced the call to his exact coordinates and told him she would call when she was close and with a place for them to go to be picked up.

"Now we wait," Steve said, taking a seat on a couch and leaning back, sighing to himself.

Sam followed suit, grabbing up a stray magazine from the coffee table and fanning himself with it. The heat outside was dry, but inside, with no windows open, it was almost suffocating.

Bucky was still wound up, stressed, pacing across the floor, his eyes darting around.

Steve watched him for a long moment before sitting forward, arms braced on his knees. "You were going to tell me before… how you and Darcy met."

Bucky looked over at him, his brow furrowed.

"I'd like to know that too," Sam said, looking over at him, arm spread out over the back of the couch. "How's a guy we assumed spent most of his time in a cryogenic sleep end up with a wife?"

Bucky's cheek twitched, his hands balling into fists and squeezing. He stilled in his steps, his back tensed, and stared at the floor uncertainly.

"C'mon, we've got nothing but time to waste… It's better to know who's out there, right? You said she was triggered, she's not really like this…" Sam said leadingly.

"She's not," he answered hoarsely. "Darcy is… She'd never hurt anybody, not like this. To protect herself, people she loves, sure, but… she's not a killer. She's soft. Funny…" He smiled faintly. "She was in university, a political science student, said she was going to become a lawyer one day, 'put assholes in jail, get good people off from bogus charges…'" He reached up, dragging a hand down his mouth, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin. "It was seven years ago… I was on a job."

* * *

[ **2007 – Lamy, New Mexico** ]

_Foster, J. PhD._

_Astrophysicist._

_Culver University Alumni._

_Einstein-Rosen Bridge._

He looked over the folders again and again, memorizing every detail of his target's life. His handlers had explained that Foster was making way in her research, that if she continued to do so it would cause problems for them, and they couldn't have that. He had one job. Put Foster down. He was given an address and driven out to Lamy, New Mexico, set up in a room to do recon of his own, and ordered to check in at the established times. He listened to orders; that was all he did. He was The Asset.

Foster was easy to track. Almost too easy. She was scatterbrained when it came to anything but her work. She frequently forgot to shower, eat regularly, or even sleep. Her intern took care of the rest; grocery shopping whenever necessary, bringing her boss coffee and Poptarts, occasionally convincing her to eat something more substantial. She made Foster sleep when she started passing out on her work, tucking her into a beat-up couch, a blanket thrown over her. The Intern was unexpected, but not anybody he thought he would have to worry about. Darcy Lewis. Political science student at Culver. 3.7 GPA. For the most part, she wore her iPod everywhere, headphones always tucked in her ears. Getting past her unnoticed wouldn't be difficult and, if necessary, he would put her down, too.

There was a third; Erik Selvig. But he'd left town early the morning after The Asset had arrived, called away on personal business. Selvig was still questionable. His handlers thought it might be pertinent to kill him, too. He was smart, collaborating on everything with Foster, meaning he may be able to recreate it without her. But The Asset hadn't been green lit for that job, so for now it was just Foster. And, if problematic, The Intern.

He tracked them for six days to get the layout of their schedule, using carefully placed bugs to listen in on their conversations. It would have to be a close job; the building they worked out of had poor line of sight from any angle he found. The only option was to get inside, take her out up close and personal, leave the way he came, and return to his room to call his handlers for pick-up. He considered doing it while Lewis was on a grocery run; she kept close to Foster for the most part.

They sat on the roof in lawn chairs one night, talking and drinking tea while Foster tried to update her intern on what the constellations were. From what he could tell, the two women were close friends. Foster, despite being older and more educated, let herself be mothered by Lewis. She could assert herself and demand to keep working, but in the end, it was Lewis fussing over her, making her eat and sleep and remember to get fresh air.

Friendship wasn't a foreign concept to The Asset, as he understood what it was. But, like with everything, he didn't understand the emotional attachment behind it. For him, there were no attachments, no emotions, there was only a job, a target, a mission.

Watching them interact, listening to their conversations, it felt different. It felt like he was missing something, some integral part to the puzzle. He knew it was there, just out of reach. It bothered him. Annoyed him when he heard Lewis needling her boss; "C'mon, Jane, you need sleep. Yeah, whine all you want, I'm not going to stop until you get at least six hours of solid rest." Her concern was real, even when she muttered under her breath that Foster was difficult. And Foster too, complaining that Lewis didn't have a head for science; "What I really need is an intern who knows what she's doing, so excuse me if I'm a little frustrated when you give me that…  _face_. That 'what are you talking about?' face. Yes! That one!" It didn't matter how much the two women argued or picked at each other, at the end of the day, they cared about one another.

The Asset recognized that on some level, but each interaction emphasized that missing part of him, like a hollow, dark hole that he hated the existence of but couldn't figure out how to fill. So he shook his head and tried to focus on his job, on what he had to do, on examining his surroundings and memorizing their schedules. It didn't matter that they reminded him of something he couldn't quite remember. They would be gone soon enough.

The Asset didn't like the nights; the cold chilled him, made the muscles attached to his bionic arm ache. The cold triggered mental pathways he didn't understand; it made him uncomfortable, twitchy, claustrophobic sometimes. He preferred the days, where the heat was almost unbearable. Lewis liked the nights; she sat outside, knitting, drinking hot cocoa. She dragged Foster out to do the same, but Foster could only stand being away from her work for so long before she begged off and went back inside, leaving Lewis to stare up at the sky, bundled in a blanket and a knit beanie, cupping her hot chocolate in hands covered in bright red mittens she'd knit herself. It occurred to him that he could kill her, kill both of them, on nights like those, but he never reached for his gun, and he wasn't sure why.

On the seventh day, he made his move. The Intern had gone into town for groceries; she would be approximately forty minutes. He entered the building through a back door, the lock was faulty and it didn't take much to break completely. There was a dish of dry cat food on the ground that Lewis filled twice a day for a stray cat she'd taken under her wing but Foster had put her foot down on actually adopting. He was careful not to disturb the cat dish, choosing ignorance as to why.

The room the back door led to was dark, light from the next room faintly reaching inside; boxes and broken equipment were piled against the walls. He moved quietly, exiting the storage area and entering the main part of the building. There was a laundry room first, two baskets, one pink and one green, filled with various articles of women's clothing, towels, and a quilt that needed to be patched up. A load was going; water filled the washer, the rushing sound loud enough to cover his already silent footsteps as he moved across the linoleum. The next room was the kitchen; there was an empty box of Poptarts on the counter, beside a plate smudged with peanut butter and covered in toast crumbs. An open carton of cream sat beside a bowl of sugar next to the percolating coffee machine; he breathed the smell in deep and felt his mouth water. He blinked, briefly distracted by it, and shook it off, making his way out of the kitchen.

The main room, what should have been a living room, was filled with a cluster of machines, many of which were being held together with a Frankenstein-job of gears and duct tape. A table sat in the center of the room, dressed in star charts and paperwork, while a white board, covered in clusters of data, was rolled just to the right of a desk pressed against the far wall with a computer, more paperwork, and a filing cabinet, the top drawer left open. To the right, a hallway led to the bedrooms and a bathroom, but he didn't need to go there, instead making his way further into the living room made work shop.

Foster had her back to him, bent over a stack of printed out data, mumbling to herself, absently reaching for a plate, where a half-eaten Poptart sat. Her hand missed the plate at first, reaching around without direction, and just as she'd nearly grabbed it, she accidentally pushed it, shoving it off the side of the table.

The clatter of glass on the ground made him tense, his hand squeezing around the grip of his gun.

Groaning to herself, Foster bent to clean up the mess, picking up each piece of the plate and stacking it in her palm before picking up her Poptart, examining it, brushing it on her knee, and then considering if she should still eat it. She had it raised to her mouth and was just standing, turning to face him when he raised his gun.

Letting out a squeak, she dropped everything from her hands, raising them up in surprise. Eyes wide, she exclaimed, "If you're looking for money, I don't have any."

"She's not kidding; she's seriously broke. She doesn't even pay me."

The Asset's head swiveled abruptly, landing on The Intern, who was holding her keys in one slightly raised hand, the other gripped around her canvas bag. She must have forgotten something, he thought absently, watching as she moved slowly toward Foster.

"For the last time, you're an  _intern_. You don't  _get_ paid," Foster reminded, rolling her eyes.

"Which I still think is ridiculous." Lewis finally reached her, but instead of standing at her side, she moved directly in front of Foster.

The Asset stared at her, tipping his gun to tell her to move.

Lewis readjusted her glasses. "I don't know why you're here. I could take a wild guess that it has something to do with the rainbow bridge—"

"Einstein-Rosen—" Foster tried to correct.

" _Is now the time?_ " Lewis turned her head to whisper-shout in frustration.

"Sorry. Sorry."

Turning her attention back to The Asset, Lewis raised her chin. "Look, picking on twiggy astrophysicists who get winded if they move too much and regularly forget to eat isn't much of a fair fight, especially if you have a gun. So why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

The Asset twitched; something niggling at his brain.

Foster let out an incredulous noise. "Darcy, don't push the assassin."

"Assassin, school yard bully, whatever." She glared up at him. "Big man with a gun… What, you couldn't take her in a fair fight?"

Another twitch; he frowned.

Lewis paused, her eyes darting away. "Not that Jane knows how to fight. I mean, I saw her wrestle a seven year old kid for the last box of strawberry Poptarts once, but that hardly counts. Especially since she  _lost_. But all that does is prove you're pathetic for taking on such a lightweight."

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. This… woman, questioning him, purposely goading him; this wasn't how people were supposed to react to him. Frightfully hiding, sure. Begging for their life, absolutely. But putting themselves between him and a target? That was rare. Especially when they were untrained, incapable of doing him any damage.

He took a step forward and watched as she flinched, but instead of offering her boss up for death and asking that he spare her, she only seemed to get taller, raising her head up and spreading her arm out as if to somehow cover Foster further.

"I won't let you hurt her," Lewis told him, her expression determined.

He continued walking, until they were only a foot apart. "Move," he ordered.

She glared up at him, even as he could see her body trembling. " _No_. You want a fight, I'll give you a fight. But if you think I'll let you touch her, you're dead wrong."

The Asset tipped his head. There was something still scratching at the back of his mind; some synapse firing, a broken thread of thought or memory that was trying, and failing, to connect to its related end. He should kill her. Reach out, snap her neck, put a bullet between Foster's eyes, pack up and leave.

Instead, he hesitated.

And she took her chance.

Her leg came up abruptly, quicker than he expected, aimed between his. He caught it before she could do damage, but that didn't matter. Her hand pulled a charged taser from her bag; she aimed it at his face and fired. He didn't catch that. The jolt of electricity hit him hard and he started violently shaking, releasing her leg before he hit the ground. She kept her finger on the trigger so the electricity just kept coming and reached behind her, shoving at Foster's arm, telling her, " _Go, go, go!_ "

They ran, with Lewis finally letting up on the taser as she and Foster fled the building.

It took him a few seconds to get his breath back, reaching up with shaking fingers to pull his mask from his mouth to suck in air desperately. He stretched his head back, his muscles twitching as his heels pressed down hard against the ground. He could hear the truck starting up outside and knew they were leaving, that he didn't have much time to get up and give pursuit. There was no guarantee where they were going or if they would come back. It would be like painting a target on their foreheads to walk back into this building when they knew he was out for them. But Foster's life's work was here, and if there was only one thing she would risk her life for, it was that.

That was what he told himself anyway as he managed to turn over onto his stomach, get his knees up under him and, shakily, get to his feet, grabbing at the table to get upright.

Panting, still shaking, he pulled the tines from his forehead and stared down at them in his hand, pushing his goggles up and out of the way. Faced with an assassin, with sure death, The Intern put herself between him and her friend, offered to fight him personally, and tasered him to get her and Foster free. He wasn't sure what the feeling welling up inside him was; rage for being beaten by an untrained, unassuming university student, or admiration for her rare show of courage.

Maybe both.

Regardless, he still had a job to do, and handlers to report back to.

Tossing the tines to the ground, he left the building on unsteady legs, promising himself that next time, he wouldn't underestimate her.

And neither would he hesitate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can see, I changed the time frame of when Thor happened, since it originally aired in 2010 and I pushed it back two years. I have a reason for this. The flashbacks are also set pre-Thor, so neither Darcy nor Jane have met Thor yet, which gets discussed in the next chapter since, as you can see, they're in Lamy, New Mexico and not Puente Antiguo.
> 
> Also, just in case I didn't explain it well enough, the twitches Bucky's experiencing and the reason he was having trouble killing Darcy is because she reminds him of Steve standing up to bullies and taking on more than they can chew. He doesn't know why it's happening, he doesn't remember Steve, but those feelings are still there and it's causing him some problems in terms of doing his job.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading! Please, leave a review; they're my lifeblood!
> 
> \- **Lee | Fina**


	3. Lewis & The Asset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : [[Darcy](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=130637038)] | [[Jane](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=130099653)]

**III**.

[ **Present – 2015 - Portugal** ]

Sam was grinning. "I'm sorry… The first time you met your wife, she  _tasered_ you…" He held his hands up. "I take back my first opinion; I think I like this girl."

Steve snorted faintly, but was watching Bucky, who looked a little less stressed. He frowned, however, as the name sparked a memory. "Jane Foster... I think I read something about her. The Einstein-Rosen Bridge; that's what brought Thor here the first time…" He shook his head, trying to remember the files he'd read on each of his teammates three years earlier. "But it wasn't in Lamy; it was in Puente Antiguo. There was no mention of an assassination attempt, not on record anyway."

"SHIELD never met Darcy," Bucky said.

"Well, don't leave us in suspense," Sam encouraged, staring up at him. "How'd it go from tasering you to marrying you?"

Bucky looked back at him and then to Steve, who shrugged. "I'm curious, too."

Sighing, Bucky finally took a seat in the arm chair, licking his lips as he stared down at the coffee table.

* * *

[ **2007 – Lamy, New Mexico** ]

The handlers weren't happy, but he assured them he had a lead on where they were going. It wasn't a lie; not exactly. Foster wouldn't abandon all of her work; she wasn't the type. During the time he'd observed her, her work was her life. It occurred to him that he could take her findings and leave, but he had been ordered to kill her and burn the information. For now, it would remain intact, if only to lure her back.

It took three days before the truck reappeared; it was early, just after seven in the morning, when he heard the rumbling noise of the pick-up. Sleeping for him was more like dozing; the simplest of sounds could wake him. Turning up the listening devices, he started gathering his supplies and suiting up.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is?" Lewis was yelling as they entered the building. "There was an  _assassin_ , Jane! A freaking  _assassin_. Logic says that you do not go back to the place that the assassin knows you live and work, because said assassin still wants to kill you.  _Especially_ since your very dedicated, very beloved intern, tasered him in the  _face!"_

"I can't just leave it here, Darcy," Foster replied, exasperated. "Do you have any idea how long I've been working on this? Everything my career has been leading to, everything I worked for, is in this room. Now help me get it into the truck, okay? Like you said, there's an assassin looking for me and he could show up any second."

"Uh,  _yeah_ , which is why I have my taser charged! Remind me again why we don't have some kind of FBI shadow helping us with this?"

"Because. The cops still haven't forgiven us for that time Erik got drunk and streaked through that parade. They didn't believe me when I talked to them… And also because the last people I want poking around my work is the government; they'll confiscate everything."

"Jane,  _listen to yourself_. All of this is just paper. The real stuff is in your head. It doesn't matter if they confiscate it, because at least you'll be alive. To, you know,  _recreate_ it!"

Foster sighed. "It's not the same. I can't remember everything; that's why it's written down, so I can look back at what I've already done. You need data to prove things. Everything I've done already would have to be redone, in the same circumstances, with the same results, or it's moot. I'd have to start over from scratch. Now will you please stop arguing with me and help me get this loaded?"

"Fine. But if the assassin comes back and I get hardcore murdered, I hope you remember me and my sacrifice gets some serious coverage."

"Oh my God, Darcy…" Foster muttered.

The Asset left his room and made his way down to the building; sneaking in through the back like he had before. To make a point, more to himself than anything else, he upturned the cat dish with his foot.

He found them in the living room, loading plastic milk crates with paperwork and folders, emptying out the filing cabinet and compiling everything on the table and desk. The whiteboard was wiped clean and Foster was in the process of unplugging cords from various machines.

"What the hell do you think we're going to do with those, huh? We're just going to wheel all of these into the truck? They weigh a ton."

"I'm not leaving them. I can't build new ones. I don't have the resources to. And I've already got a new site set up for us in Puente Antiguo. We just need to get there." She sighed, wiping her hands off on her jeans. "You know, this could be a good thing. Data readings out here weren't very good. I've been thinking about moving camp for a while."

"To Puente Antiguo? Lemme ask you something, is it any less 'hot as balls' than it is here?" Lewis wondered.

"Well…  _no_. But I'm sure the data will help us."

"Not getting killed will help me. Six credits for this insane internship will help me. Not scraping your face off the floor would  _really_ help me." Apparently fed up, Lewis dropped a crate to the floor. "No, you know what, we're going to talk about this… Three days ago, some leathered up crazy dude with a gun came in here to  _kill_  you. Do you understand that? Because you keep talking about work and saving your data, but I walked in here and I thought you were three seconds away from being  _dead_ , okay? And I know I was the only person to sign up for this internship and you mostly just put up with me because I make good coffee, but damn it, Jane, I consider you a friend. A really good friend, and I don't want you to die, especially not for freaking  _science_!"

Foster went still, staring at the floor a long moment, and then she let out a shuddering breath, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "I know… I know you were scared. I… I was too. Not just for me, but you too. Darcy, you stepped in front of that gun for me. You risked your  _life_  and I have never been more scared than when I thought he was going to kill you. Not because he'd kill me next but because you were right there and you were ready to die for me and— And I'm  _sorry_. I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you didn't matter here. You  _do!_ I mean, you're not very good at science and you have very limited knowledge of astrophysics, but that doesn't make you pointless. You're important. You're my friend and I need you here, alive and okay. So just… don't step in front of any more bullets for me, okay?"

"Don't get any more aimed at you and I won't have to."

"Darcy, I'm serious… If he comes back, you need to go. Call for help, hide, I don't know, just… don't sacrifice yourself for me."

Lewis scoffed. "Are you kidding? I had that guy on the ropes."

The Asset twitched, blinking rapidly, his hand flexing on the gun.

He stepped out from the kitchen then, angry at the way he was reacting, at how his mind was struggling against him, at how she kept triggering something he had no control over and he had no idea  _why_.

"Oh, shit."

Foster whirled around, her eyes wide as she spotted him.

"Damn it, I  _told_ you so," Lewis exclaimed, stomping her foot. She reached for her bag, but the gun turned in her direction and she paused, letting out a squeak. "Okay, so, about how I tasered you in the face…  _Whoops?_ "

He stared at her, his teeth gritted.

_Pull the trigger. Just squeeze it. Put her down. Take out Foster. Return to room. Report to handlers. Get picked up._

So easy, it would be  _so_  easy. Two bullets and he'd be finished. But instead, he stared at her, standing there, her hand still outstretched for her taser, waiting for an opportunity.

He tipped his head and said, "Leave and I won't kill you."

Maybe it was a test, maybe it was an opportunity that he was offering her; he didn't know.

But she raised her chin up and shook her head. "I told you before… I won't let you hurt her."

" _Darcy_ ," Foster stressed.

"No," she answered sternly, lowering her hands and taking a step toward him. "You want her, you go through me."

His lip curled and he squeezed the grip of his gun until it strained under his hand. Cursing at her in rapid, angry Russian, he took two long steps toward her, gun pointed at the center of her forehead. Lewis closed her eyes, cringing, but she didn't backpedal, offering up her boss. Instead, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and stared at him, brow furrowed and breathing rapid.

The Asset ground his teeth together behind his mouth guard, his eyes darting over her face, searching for regret, weakness, but she refused to give him that. There was fear; her fingers were trembling and her eyes were bloodshot with a sheen of tears, but she wouldn't bow her head or walk away or give him any measure of surrender.

It made him twitch, some broken link in his head sparking but not quite lighting up entirely. It was enough, however. He dropped his gun, letting it hang uselessly at his side, and let out a frustrated growl, reaching up to grip and pull at his hair as he turned on his heel and stalked away, muttering to himself, stressed and confused. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn't he just pull the goddamn trigger?

Lewis let out a breath, quick and relieved, and then she moved, crossing the room to Foster, grabbing her arm.

"I don't— I don't get it," Foster whispered to her, looking between him and her intern.

"What's there to get?" Lewis snapped. "He's not shooting. This is where you run."

"But why?"

"Damn it, Jane, this isn't the time for a survey!" She shoved Foster toward the hallway leading to the door, looking back at him over her shoulder, her brow furrowed.

He watched her for a moment and then, for reasons he didn't understand, he said, "They'll keep coming… They'll send someone else if they have to."  _Or me_ , he thought,  _wiped clean again_.

Lewis stopped, pushing Foster out the door leading to the truck. She turned on her heel and walked back to him. Her hands were fisted as she rocked on her heels, keeping distance between them, suspicious and still scared, but stubborn. "Who? Who sent you? Who ordered this… this  _hit?_ " She stared at him searchingly and, when he didn't answer right away, snapped, "Come on, don't clam up on me now."

He stayed silent another beat, but staring at her impatient, nervous face, finally said, "HYDRA."

"HYDRA," she repeated, nodding. And then paused. "Wait.  _HYDRA?_  Like, the 1940's, World War 2, taken down by Captain America,  _that_ HYDRA? It was destroyed…"

He stared at her.

"Okay,  _not_  destroyed." She licked her lips, putting to her forehead, and started pacing. "Not destroyed, still working their evil magic behind closed doors, gunning down anybody that stands in the way of what they call progress… But that's— I mean… why Jane?"

"They think she's close to making a discovery. I was ordered to put her down before she could."

Lewis lit up then. "Wait, you mean… she's on the right track?" She bounced a little, looking excited. "Oh man, this is awesome. I always kind of thought she was a crackpot. Love her, but still…  _crackpot_."

He watched her, moving to and fro, grinning widely. His brow furrowed. "She's going to be a  _dead…_ crackpot." The word sounded odd, foreign on his tongue. Then again, most words did. He didn't do a whole lot of talking; he had no reason to. "HYDRA won't let her walk away from this. They might remove me for a while, but they'll just send me back in to finish the job later."

Lewis crossed her arms, letting out an incredulous scoff. "What, so you get a good scolding and suddenly you can actually pull the trigger?"

"I have to call my handlers," he said absently, his brow furrowed. "Report in that I failed." He grimaced, his hand squeezing tightly around the gun. His muscles tensed, spasmed, in anticipation of the pain that was coming.

She stared at him, taking another step forward, twisting at the hips as she eyed him speculatively. "So… What happens when the assassin fails anyway? Lines? No dessert?"

His jaw ticked. "Erase and start over."

A beat passed before, "Erase? Like… mentally?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "What's your name?"

He paused. "The Asset."

"That's not a name. Unless you're a pop star, and,  _obviously_ , you chose a different career path." Her eyes narrowed, gaze scrutinizing every inch of him. "So they wipe you clean, huh? That's some serious spy movie shit…" She walked even closer, too curious for her own good.

He watched her, tensed, but his hand never rose, his finger wouldn't touch the trigger. It was a strange feeling, letting her move at her own pace, slowly eating up the space between them, until she was just as close as she had been when she'd tasered him. Her head back, she peered up at him, and her hands hesitantly raised, fingers curling around the edge of his facial mask.

"Like a dog," she murmured. "With a choke chain."

He grabbed one of her wrists, bionic fingers wrapped around it, and stared down at her through his goggles. "I could kill you," he said, his voice thick with tension. "Right now. Put a bullet between those pretty blue eyes."

She hummed in acknowledgement. "But you won't." She pulled the metal free and lowered it, staring at his mouth. "There. See? Now you can breathe a little better." Her eyes raised to the goggles, her fingers stretched toward them.

He squeezed her wrist to stop her, but released it long enough to remove the goggles himself, lowering them to his side, staring at her searchingly, his own expression wary. She didn't look scared, but what was he expecting? That she would see his face, see his sins written in his skin, and suddenly lose the backbone that had been getting her through these last two encounters?

"Well, the movies got one thing right; assassins are hot."

His lips pursed. "I'm still holding a gun."

Her mouth turned up at the corners. "Adds to the appeal."

His eyebrow raised slowly and he wondered if he should re-evaluate her and the situation they found themselves in. She was… odd. Unexpected. Even confusing.

"So?" She looked down at the metal muzzle still held in her fingers. "Do you always wear this or only when you're sniping people? Like, do you sleep with it on? It's gotta be uncomfortable. Not much give." She raised it up then and placed it over her own mouth before making a raspy noise. " _Luke… I am your father_ …"

He blinked at her, staring at the mask, and frowned. He didn't like it; didn't like how it looked on her. It was wrong. He reached for it, but she slapped his hand, causing him to stare at her incredulously.

"Hey, you get to wear it all the time, this might be the only time I get to play assassin… Unless I get to go to comic con this year, in which case I'll totally be stealing your look." She winked before turning on her heel and walking a few feet away.

"It hides my identity," he told her.

"And what  _is_ your identity?" She looked over her shoulder at him, muzzle still over her mouth. She had full lips; he regretted not being able to see them.

"The Asset," he repeated, standing a little taller, his chin raised. It was less about pride and more about putting up a defense. All he knew, all he could ever remember being was The Asset.

"So you mentioned…" She held the mask up with one hand perched under her chin. "So, if you don't have a name and they wipe you clean every time, does that mean that The Asset  _used_ to have a life…? I mean, if you have to hide your identity, that means someone'll be able to identify you… Right?"

His brow furrowed, gaze dropping to the floor.

"Food for thought," she said, moving to the table a few feet behind her and dropping the muzzle down on top of it before she started gathering papers again, piling them into the milk crates. "So, if you're not going to snipe us, how does helping us pack up and move some seriously heavy equipment sound?" she wondered.

He stared at her back, at her fingers, nails painted a bright, almost obnoxious, shade of orange, drumming over the tabletop, and shook his head. "You're very reckless, aren't you?"

She grinned at him over her shoulder. "What gave me away?"

He pressed his lips into a firm line before taking a step toward her, hesitant before raising his chin and crossing the space between them. "Why'd you risk yourself for her?" he wondered. "You offered to fight me for her. You're untrained, you have little upper body strength, you have  _no_  fighting experience at all, your diet is terrible, and you never exert any real physical energy…"

"Wow, thanks, just keep piling the compliments on me," she muttered.

He shook his head. "The first time you had your taser, and I'll admit, you were clever. Sloppy, but brave. The second time… If I didn't change my mind, you would have  _died_."

Her gaze dropped for a moment, hands going still on the papers before she turned around to face him properly. "She's my friend. My  _best_ friend, actually. I mean we fight and we nag and she's kind of like that older sister who keeps telling me to apply myself, but… I don't know. I love her. And friends stick up for each other, even if it means putting yourself between them and a bullet."

He turned his eyes away thoughtfully.

"Have you ever had that?" she wondered, and then frowned. "Stupid question, I guess. You wouldn't remember, right?"

He looked back at her, hesitated for a moment, but then admitted, "They ask me sometimes, if I remember anything…"

"What happens if you say yes?"

"Pain. A lot of it. And the cold." His gaze grew distant, mouth set in a grimace. "I don't always remember it in my head. But my body… my bones, they remember."

She was quiet for a long moment, just staring at him. "Who do you think were, before all of that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like you said, you hesitated… You didn't want to kill us."

" _You_. I didn't want to kill you." He frowned. "You trigger me. It's like I'm trying to remember but I know I shouldn't."

"'Shouldn't' doesn't mean you don't want to. Just means they've gotten really good at beating you down… You said your body remembers; so your mind tells you not to ask questions, you learn to shut up, because you don't want to get kicked. That doesn't make it right." She tugged at her fingers and stared up at him. "What if I could find out who you were? Like, before."

"How?"

"I'm pretty good with computers, and I have a few connections I could reach out to if I can't do it on my own. I could probably track you down if I had a picture. I mean, you don't just disappear off the face of the planet. You had to have a life before this, right? Friends, family, people who loved you…"

He winced, looking away quickly.

"There could be a life after this, you know. Ex-assassin goes straight, gets his memory back. Makes a pretty good headline, don't you think?" she encouraged.

He didn't answer right away, his eyes darting over the floor. "What happens… after?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you want to. I mean, I don't have a whole lot of experience with assassins or memory loss, but… The world's your oyster and all that."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Sure, there'll probably be a lot of red tape if you go public, but I bet you have a good idea of how to stay under the radar, right? So you could travel, set down roots somewhere, blend in, become Jo Average, if you want… It's kind of up to you what you want to do with your life." She grinned then, laughing under her breath.

Confused by the sudden burst of mirth, he asked, "What?"

"It's just… I never thought I'd be giving life advice to an assassin." She looked up at him, sobering. "Not that your situation is funny, 'cause it's not, but… when I signed up to play intern to an astrophysicist, I never thought it'd be this exciting. Near-death experiences, assassins with tragic back stories, it's a real trip."

He grunted, taking a step back from her. "If I let you take that picture, could you really find out who I was?" He stared at her, searching for any sign that she was lying.

"Hey, you promise not to snipe me or Jane and I'll make you a freaking scrapbook." She walked toward her bag then and pulled out her phone. "Just stay still. And, I know it's going to be hard, but try not to smile."

He tamped down the urge to roll his eyes and waited for her to raise her phone.

She paused though, walking back to him, and reached up, brushing his hair back from his eyes, tucking it behind his ears. His gaze followed her fingers curiously.

"There," she said. "A little less hobo killer and a little more hobo chic."

He arched an eyebrow at her, but she only grinned, leaning back and raising her phone up to snap a picture. "Two just to be sure," she said, taking another. And then she hopped over, her chin on his shoulder and her mouth spread in an overenthusiastic grin, and snapped a third. "That one's just to capture the crazy plot twist that is my current life. Don't worry, I won't Facebook it or anything; that might blow our little 'escape HYDRA's clutches' plan."

He watched her as she stepped back, lighthearted and entirely too relaxed about the situation.

"Okay, so I'll do a facial recognition kind of thing, give it my best college try, track down who you were, and you just… don't call it in to HYDRA or whatever."

He shook his head. "I  _have_  to report in."

She shrugged. "Well, just lie then. It's like you said, if you call and tell them that you didn't kill us, they're going to come for you, or send a replacement. Who, I'm guessing, isn't going to hesitate because of my praise-worthy heroics. So call in, tell them, I don't know, that you're getting close or something. Making progress…? Obviously I'm not up on assassin lingo, all right? Just find a way to keep them from interfering while I figure out who you were."

"Why are you helping me?" he wondered, lips turned down. "I tried to kill you, your friend. I still could."

"I like underdogs," she said dismissively. At his unconvinced expression, she added, "Look, I'm not happy about the assassination attempts. Seriously, I think you scared a good decade off my life here on out. But… you hesitated. And you don't know who you are. And HYDRA, who, lemme tell you, does not have a good history, is basically using you to their advantage. Personally, I plan on becoming a lawyer, the kind that puts assholes in jail and gets good people off from bogus charges… So, the way I see it is, HYDRA is the asshole and you're probably a good dude who just got caught up in their nefarious shit… Good word, nefarious."

"What if I'm not?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Not what?"

He grimaced. "A good person."

"Well then maybe this can be a wake-up call, right? Start fresh, be the person you want to be, whoever that is. Hopefully it's not evil. Fingers crossed on not evil." She raised said crossed fingers and grinned up at him. When he continued to look conflicted, she sighed, reaching over to pop his shoulder with a fist. It was probably the least aggressive time anybody had ever taken a swing at him; he wasn't sure what to make of that. "I don't know what's behind the unmarked door. Maybe it's good things, maybe it isn't, but… do you want to keep doing what you're doing?"

He frowned, his brow furrowed. Nobody had ever asked him that before. He was The Asset. He followed orders. There were no other options. But did he want to keep doing this? The thought of going back, of the pain and the cold, made him shake his head. He didn't want it. He didn't want to be their dog, their puppet, dancing on the broken strings of his fucked up mind.

"Okay. So I'll work my mojo, you do some expert lying, and we'll get you out of here. In the meantime… Maybe you could also give a girl an idea of how to keep Jane from getting knocked off…? Pretty please?"

"As long as I'm in rotation, they won't send anybody else. But if I leave or I get brought back in, they'll either send someone new or they'll wipe me and send me back. I can't guarantee I'll hesitate then."

"So maybe packing up and running is still an option then?" she mused.

"Not a long-term one. As long as she's still working on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, HYDRA will have her in their sights."

"Unless she opens it…" Darcy said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "If she opens it, there's no point in taking her out, she's already made it happen, right?"

"Is she close to that?" he wondered.

Darcy frowned. "No. But she thinks our next site might be better…" Sighing, she shrugged. "Unless I pack Jane up and physically kidnap her, she's not going to stop working on this. I guess that settles it then."

He stared at her, waiting for her to explain.

"I'll just have to keep an eye out, try to convince the cops in the next town that we really do have a hit out on us, or maybe put in an anonymous tip to the FBI…" She frowned. "Jane would kill me, and they totally  _would_ take all of her work…" She turned then, facing him, her expression dramatically innocent. "Hey, maybe while I'm trying to put together your thus unknown biography, you could teach an intern how to shoot a gun."

His lips pursed as he looked her over. "You want to shoot a gun?"

"I want to be able to defend myself if the next assassin isn't so…  _friendly_."

He let out a faint snort.

"C'mon, I got the chops for it… Probably. I mean, I know which way it points and I'm willing to do what I have to if it comes to keeping Jane alive. What more could you ask for in a student?"

He sighed, licking his lips as he turned his eyes away thoughtfully. After a moment, he looked back at her, mouth pressed into a line. "You know it would be smarter, if she isn't going to put her life ahead of her work, for you to leave her behind."

"I know you're missing some serious human experience, okay, so I'm not going to hold that against you, but lesson number one in being a good person…" She shook her head. "You don't leave your friends behind. Unless they're abusive assholes or something, then kick them to the curb. But the  _good_  ones, the ones that make you better… You step in front of that bullet if you have to."

He took a moment to let her words sink in and then, slowly, as if to echo something just out of reach, he said, "'Til the end of the line."

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "Exactly."

He swallowed tightly, a strange heaviness in his chest. Nodding jerkily, he took a step back.

"I should probably go stop Jane before she drags the cops to our door, somehow convince her you're not going to make a third attempt on our lives… Uh, you're not, right?"

He shook his head absently.

"Good. Okay, well, I'll look into it tonight, see what I can find. Think you could drop in tomorrow?"

He nodded, lifting his chin, making his face carefully blank.

"All right." Her eyes searched his face for a moment. "You good? You look a little… nauseous."

"Yeah," he rasped. He backed up, giving his head a shake. "Tomorrow." He turned to leave, never pausing, hurrying out the way he came, making his way through the building until he was outside, in the alleyway, bent over, sucking in air, his eyes closed tightly. What was he doing? He should have killed her, both of them. This wasn't him. It wasn't who he was. He was The Asset. How many times had he thought that like it was some kind of balm for all the missing pieces in his head? The only identity he had, held tight between metal fingers.

But as he stood there, something stirred deep in his chest. Some faint spark of hope. That maybe there was something else he could do. Someone else he could be. That he wouldn't have to go back to the chair, to the cold. That he would never have to put the mask on again. He didn't know who he was, but maybe he was someone. Maybe there was someone out there looking for him. Someone who missed him. He was going to find out.

As he took a step forward, a crunching noise caught his attention; he dropped his gaze to see the dry cat food dish tipped over. Kneeling down, he scooped up what he could with his hand; most of it was clean, piled on top of each other. He put it back in the dish and stood, wiping his hand on his pants before he walked away.

He would come back tomorrow, and find out who he really was.

* * *

[ **Present – 2015 - Portugal** ]

Steve stared at him a long searching moment, his fingers gripped tight around the arm of the couch. "Darcy, always putting herself between you and Foster… it reminded you of me."

Bucky jerked his head in a nod. "It wasn't until later, after she looked into me, found out who I was, that it made sense… There was footage of us in the war; stock photos, history books. She said she hit the jackpot; I was just famous enough for her to find without too much work."

"Bet she wasn't expecting to find an MIA soldier from the 40's," Sam mused, letting out a long whistle.

"It was a surprise for both of us…" His smile was brittle. "She was hoping she'd find a family, people who missed me, but after all that time passed… There was no one. Some of the Commandos were still alive, but… They were older, retired, what were they gonna do with me?"

Steve let out a heavy breath. "I thought the same thing, when I… woke up. SHIELD, they told me I had a purpose, that I could help, and it wasn't long later that I was suiting up, joining The Avengers. But it still felt different. I thought I was ending a war, and I guess I did, but… I walked into another one, into a future where I had nobody I wanted there with me."

Bucky stared at him. "I was lucky, I guess… Not before, not with HYDRA. But with Darcy… She helped. She made it easier to accept." He shook his head. "I didn't remember much, she tried to fill in a lot of the gaps. I don't know what I would've done, figuring that out, nobody around to help me." He swallowed tightly then and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "She got me through the worst part of my life, and I'm the reason hers turned out the way it did."

Sam shook his head. "She's alive, Foster too, so you must've done something to keep them that way… But you still ended up back with HYDRA, so… What happened? How'd they get both of you?"

Bucky let out a long, heavy breath, and said, "I went rogue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate everybody who's reviewing, but I do notice the volume of reviews has been going down. And I can't tell if there's a loss of interest in the story or if people are relying on kudos. So please let me know if you're still reading...


	4. A History Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : Darcy [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=130637038)], [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=131609938)] | Jane [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=130099653)], [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=131610256)]

**IV**.

Before Bucky could begin telling the story again, Sam decided he wanted snacks and decided to raid the cupboards and fridge to see what the absent tenants of the house they had commandeered had to offer. While he was searching around, the faint background noise of him muttering to himself and shuffling through things reached them in the living room. Steve took a moment, lost in thought, his hand rubbing over his mouth. He raised his eyes and found Bucky slouched in the arm chair, rubbing at his neck.

"Are you okay?" Steve wondered, keeping his voice neutral. He frowned to himself and then shook his head, offering a faint, somewhat bitter smile. "Stupid question. I just meant—"

He glanced at him, his brow furrowed, and then lowered his gaze to the coffee table. "She's got my ring. I… It stays on a necklace, since…" He flexed his bionic hand meaningfully. "They take it away though, when I go on missions, so she wears it to keep it safe."

Steve nodded his understanding, his eyes darting over Bucky's face thoughtfully. "Do you remember what it felt like, the first time she told you about me? About our friendship?"

He didn't answer right away, frowning to himself. "Wasn't the same then like it is now. You triggered me. I started… I knew I remembered you, but I couldn't remember why. With Darcy, she… I don't know. There just, there wasn't any expectations there. 'Cept maybe that I wouldn't kill her or Foster." He licked his lips. "It was hard… confusing… Staring at a picture of yourself and you don't even really recognize it's you. All this stuff on being a hero, being somebody else completely, and… it's wrong, it's all wrong. Suddenly I got a name and it's not one I can live up to."

Steve shook his head. "That's not true. I mean, it is, for you, in the moment. But, that guy, who you were, that's still you. He's in there, he's just… trying to figure himself out, I guess. And now you have time to do that. You won't have HYDRA controlling everything you do. You can be free, Bucky.  _Really_ free."

He ground his teeth as his jaw shook and swallowed tightly. "Wasn't always bad," he choked out hoarsely. "I wasn't always stuck in cryo-sleep, you know?" He shifted in his seat and gripped the arm of his chair tightly. "Some days even seemed worth it… Could pretend for a little while that we were just normal people, could leave any time we wanted…"

"It can be like that. We'll figure this out."

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding a little. "We will."

Sam appeared then, a bag of something that looked like crackers tucked under his arm and carrying a few mugs of something sweet smelling. "They had tea or something in the cupboard. And I don't know what's in this bag, but I'm gonna eat it anyway, 'cause I'm starving." He handed the tea out to either of them before he retook his seat. "All right. I miss anything?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Bucky was just about to tell us how he ended up going rogue…" He wrapped his hand around the mug of tea and rested it on his knee as he waited for Bucky to pick up where he left off.

The wrinkling noise of the bag being opened was all that filled the room as Sam dug into his snack before Bucky finally opened his mouth to start. "After I left them, I went back to the room I was staying in…"

* * *

[ **2007 – Lamy, New Mexico** ]

The Asset had a check-in at noon that he followed protocol for. He informed them that Foster had returned to the building and he would make his move soon. They gave him a time limit and hung up.

He spent much of his day just listening to Lewis and Foster argue about the situation, prepared for the bottom to give and Lewis to admit that she wouldn't really be helping him, it was just a cover to keep things afloat while they packed up and left. Instead, it was hours of sisterly bickering as the two women argued their points back and forth.

"You were the one telling me how crazy it was to come back here and now you want to stay!" Foster exclaimed.

" _No_ … I wanted to call the FBI and send you away to join witness protection," Lewis defended. "But, since I know you won't let me do that, I propose we stick around another day."

"So you can keep befriending the assassin?! Darcy, you were in here, alone with him, doing I don't even  _know_  what. I—I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the part where he had a gun to your face and you just…  _stood_ there. And then he just lets us go, which… I— I don't—"

"He's really not that bad," Lewis mused. "Kind of lost. You know, they were brainwashing him. It's not like he  _chose_ to do this."

"Are you  _sympathizing_ with the guy who just tried to kill us?" Foster shrieked. " _Seriously?_  What if he's just  _telling_ you that?"

"What's the point? If he wanted to kill us, he already could have,  _twice_." She snorted. "You think he just likes playing with his marks?"

"I have no idea! I didn't hang around to make  _friends_  with him!"

"Yeah, well, your loss. I mean, let's think about this, being friends with an assassin is a lot better than  _not_ , right?" Not letting Foster argue different, she continued, "The point is that as long as he's here, he's not going to kill us. So as long as I help him figure out who he is, you stay alive a little longer. Long enough, hopefully, for me to convince you to take your skinny butt to the FBI or CIA or some other alphabet agency that will hopefully help you stay alive."

"Darcy, please, just,  _listen_  to me, okay…? I have a bad feeling about this. We should just go! Take what we can and go to Puente Antigua."

Lewis gave a long, aggravated sigh. "You're not hearing me… Jane, you have a  _hit_  out on you. They'll just keep coming. You're smart and what you're trying to do isn't something they want done. So they're going to take you out. Either with this guy or someone else. Right now, we have a chance to make a plan, get ahead of this thing."

"How?"

"Well, I'm asking him to teach me to shoot a gun. At the very  _least_ , I'm shooting someone before they try to take us out…"

Foster scoffed, her laugh more than a little hysterical. "Are you kidding? Darcy, you can't use a gun…"

"Hey, I'm great with weapons," she exclaimed.

"Oh my god, chopping up fire wood does not count."

Lewis let out a noise of indignation. "I am a  _boss_ with an axe, all right!"

"Great, you can break out the emergency axe if an assassin comes for us. But no guns!"

"Jane!"

" _No. Guns!_ "

"God, fine, spoilsport. Only time in my life I could get expert training from a real live assassin and you have to rain on my parade, as usual."

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"Sometimes I do. Sometimes I just let my mouth go where it wants to and play catch up later."

"Oh my God," Foster muttered to herself. "Will you please help me with the rest of this stuff?"

"That depends…"

"On?"

"Are we staying one more day?"

"Sure, yes, Darcy, we'll stay  _one_  more day so you can braid your pet assassin a friendship bracelet out of my hair, because I will be  _dead_  in some corner somewhere and my work will have gone completely to waste."

"There's no way I'd use your hair. You haven't even showered today."

Not bothering to respond to her, Foster could only be heard complaining to herself as she walked away.

"That's still a yes though, right? Because I have some serious hacking to do and a favor to call in from an old buddy with less than scrupulous opinions on hacking government agencies."

" _Whatever_ ," Foster shouted back.

"Cool," Lewis said to herself.

The Asset frowned to himself thoughtfully. The situation, and the women involved, were still confusing him. They weren't allies, not exactly, but they weren't enemies either. Truth be told, he wouldn't say he  _had_ an ally. He had handlers, guards, and superiors. As he sat back, listening to the banging and muttering of Foster as she continued to get her work together, periodically sprinkled with Lewis' off-key singing in the background, he let himself wonder about what kind of future he had ahead of him. One without orders or targets or allies or enemies. He had no idea who he would be then, but he knew who he wouldn't be, and that, for now, was good enough.

* * *

**…**

* * *

The following day, he entered the facility quietly. He knew they hadn't fled in the middle of the night. He'd slept, but even the tiniest noise jarred him awake. The truck was still out front, filled to the brim with supplies. Earlier that morning, he'd listened to Foster complain that next time she sent out a call for interns, she would be putting 'strong upper body strength' on the requirements list for moving heavy equipment.

"I told you… Tall, leathered, and reluctant-to-kill is going to help with that," Darcy mumbled her voice muffled. She wasn't a morning person; she frequently complained that work should start after noon and that tired college students needed more rest than the average person.

"Right, great, just what I want. An assassin moving the only machines I have to continue my work. The assassin hired to  _kill_  me so I  _wouldn't_ continue my work…" Foster snapped irritably.

"Look, I'm just trying to save you some wasted time… I know you have a dolly around here somewhere, but neither of us are going to be able to do much past wheeling it  _toward_ the machines."

"A combined effort might help. And there's a reason I have all the ropes put up. It's a pulley system that I designed to—"

"Aww, Janey, c'mon… It's  _early_ …"

"Not  _that_ early."

"Ugh.  _Fine_. You know what, your lack of compassion means that I'm not going to let you in on the truly  _monumental_ piece of information I found out about our would-be-killer."

"What are you talking about?"

Lewis sighed. "Try to keep up… I did some digging, and called in about six favors from Zach— you remember Zach? Doesn't believe in using deodorant because he thinks the government is purposely trying to clog our pores in an effort to keep us from evolving past their control."

"That… doesn't even make sense."

"I never said it did, but it leaves an impression, right? So, Zach?"

"Yes, I remember him. Or I remember you mentioning him.  _So?_ "

"So… I had him do some digging and use that fancy face scanning software of his that is almost definitely twelve shades of illegal and badda-bing, badda-boom, he got a hit. Actually, he got more than a hit; he found the freaking motherlode. And then I stayed up way past bedtime to research the hell out of it; which, again, sad little interns deserve more sleep."

"I heard you the first three times, Darcy. Get to the point. Who is he?"

"I told you, you were mean so now I'm not letting you in on it before he gets here." She let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Your loss, Janey, 'cause it's a whopper. We're talking war and espionage and Jason Bourne levels of government string-pulling, all with a side of Nazi's. Yeah, I said it.  _Nazi's_ , Jane."

A long pause followed. "Darcy, will you please just help me get these loaded onto the trailer? I really don't want to stick around here any longer than I have to."

"All right, all right, fine… But don't complain to me later when your arms feel like noodles, 'cause I already got us some prime muscle to help move this junk."

"It's not  _junk_."

"Fine, priceless machinery of astronomical importance… See what I did there?"

"Astronomy and astrophysics are  _completely_ different."

"They both start with 'astro' and that was all that mattered."

"Oh my God. You know, some days I really wonder why I ever even thought I needed an intern."

"Well, without one, you'd be dead, so… One for Darcy, zero for Jane."

Muttered grumbling answered her.

The Asset wasted no more time listening, however. After gathering his things in a duffel bag, the majority of which was weapons, he made his way outside and down the alley to sneak back into the building. The anticipation of finding out who he was, what his history entailed, made him jumpy. He checked over his shoulder more frequently, and eyed the ledges of the surrounding buildings as if a sniper would pop up just at the  _thought_ of him finding some kind of clarity for himself. But there was no one stationed above or hiding around the corners. It was just him, sent on a job he would never complete.

As he entered the lab, he found Foster and Lewis struggling with the equipment and a variety of ropes attached to Foster's pulley system. While smart, it would take them a lot longer than it should.

Spotting him, Lewis released her grip on the machine and gave a whoop. "Yes! Finally. The cavalry has arrived." She ignored Foster's complaints behind her and walked toward him. "Good timing too, because I was one more 'pivot' away from pulling a string of some kind, probably pork related."

He blinked at her.

"I'm guessing you're here for your full Ancestry report, no credit card required?" She dusted her hands off before dropping them to her hips. "Come on… That was a good one."

He tipped his head to the side and eyed her curiously. "You found something."

"Oh, not just something. I hit  _gold!_ " Walking toward her bag on a stray table, she reached inside for her laptop and opened it. "So I have this buddy I met back in high school. Total hacker genius. With a side of paranoia. But, well, given what he found, it's probably warranted…" Typing her password in with one hand, she started bringing up page after page of information; birth records, an obituary, redacted paperwork for a few government agencies, and one file that was written completely in Russian.

"Yeah, I had no idea what that one said, but, thankfully, I do have a program on here that was able to translate it. Not perfectly, because it's a machine and things kind of lose that personal touch, you know? But still, it's pretty close." Hauling her laptop up, she turned it to face him and the slowly inching closer Doctor Foster. "Meet James Buchanan Barnes, a sergeant in the military that was awarded the purple heart  _posthumously_ …" She looked between them, smirking. "'Cause, you know, he died in 1945." Her eyebrows arched and wiggled excitedly.

Foster frowned. "Wait, that can't be right, that's…" She lurched forward, eyeing the information, the pictures, and then turned around to look at him critically.

Darcy put the laptop down and then stepped forward, reaching up toward Bucky's face.

He paused, leaning out of reach, but she gave him an exasperated look. "Your hair, it's ruining the effect… And also needs a trim. Split ends are never in season."

He pursed his lips at her but brushed his own hair back, tucking it behind his ears. He didn't like it, how open his face felt, but he waited, letting Foster stare at him speculatively.

"So he bears a resemblance," she admitted. "That doesn't mean…"

"Just listen, okay?" Darcy interrupted, before walking back to her computer. "Zach found all of these records. Top secret spy stuff that he definitely shouldn't have had access to, but you know Zach. If there's a mystery, he wants to crack it. So he went digging, and when he keeps getting a perfect hit for Bucky Barnes, he digs even deeper. Like, we're talking cracked some international firewalls and basically infiltrated the United States Army's records for a lot of this shit." She waved her hands around. "I'm about to go off on a long winded history lesson, so just stick with me, okay?"

Not bothering to wait for their go-ahead, she launched into it. "Okay, so the attack on Pearl Harbor happens back on December 7th, 1941, right, and the United States decides to stop playing ignorance to everyone else's suffering and finally step up and do something about it. So war's on us and what do two all-American boys do but try to live up to the dream, right? You know, the blood soaked one full of lies. So James Barnes and his bestie from way back, Steve Rogers, start hitting up recruitment centers trying to earn their stripes. But Rogers is a tiny little dude with so many ailments there's no way they can take him. Like I can list them for you, but it'd probably save time to list what he  _didn't_ have wrong with him. Anyway, a couple years go by and they're still not having much luck; Rogers is hell bent on serving his country though. He's going under pseudonyms and traveling around, hitting every recruitment place in sight. But no dice.

"Finally, it's Flag day, 1943, and Bucky Barnes gets conscripted to go to war. Unlike Rogers, he's the able bodied American they want to send out to the frontlines, he just wasn't too keen on it. Historians go back and forth on whether he entered willingly or if he didn't want to so he could keep an eye on Rogers, but the totally illegal paperwork I read says conscripted, so take from that what you will.

"So he dons the uniform and ships off to England as part of the 107th. Obviously, things are not all rainbows and sunshine. When is war ever? By October, Barnes and his whole troop get scooped up by the terrorist organization known as HYDRA… I guess since they technically split from Hitler, they're not Nazis, but whatever, close enough. Anyway, Barnes gets put in this prison where they're forced to work for the enemy building bombs or something. Apparently work conditions suck extra hard, because Barnes gets sick, pneumonia, and instead of, you know, giving him medical attention, they decide to do something else…"

She looked between them a moment, both listening raptly while she absently paces. "See, back in 1943, at the same time that Barnes was playing the good soldier, Rogers found a way into the army. There was this scientist or doctor or something, Erksine, and he was working on this project called Rebirth, which was basically a way to make the perfect soldier. Kind of creepy, if you think about it. I mean, Hitler's over there trying to build his perfect race and to defeat him we're _also_  fudging genetics to get a whole army of perfect people. Anyway, so it works and little sickly Steve Rogers turns into tall, buff Captain America. You remember him, right, Jane? I know you were all about science, but you had to take history too at some point…"

Jane scoffed. "That was propaganda, Darcy. It wasn't real. He was just a tool to get people to join the army or buy war bonds."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we're told that because they didn't want to admit they were pumping dudes with secret serums to turn them into super soldiers, Jane. I mean the ethics there are more than a little skewed." She waved a dismissive hand. "Either way, long story short, Erksine gets knocked off and that whole super army becomes just one really jacked dude. The really important part was that before Project Rebirth, back when Erksine was still working out the kinks on the serum, Hitler got wind about what he was doing, and when Erksine didn't want to play ball, Hitler sent someone over to bully him into it. Enter Johann Schmidt, leader of HYDRA. And surprise, surprise, he's got a total God complex and wants the serum for himself. But the serum wasn't ready and blah, blah, blah, he turns into a giant, red skulled dickwad. I mean, he was already a dickwad, but the red really brought it out. Schmidt isn't so happy then. I guess ginger wasn't for him. So he throws Erksine into a cell somewhere to rot.

"Through some awesome, feminist ass-kicking, my personal hero, Peggy  _freaking_  Carter, gets Erksine out of Schmidt's hands, so, you know, he can later continue working on the questionable and super unethical serum for the US. Meanwhile, Schmidt gets on making his own serum; without all the red-skully side effects, hopefully. Now, guess who he decides to test said serum out on…?" Before they can answer, she exclaims, " _Ding, ding, ding_! Sick enemy soldiers. I mean, technically, aside from the whole pneumonia thing, Barnes was probably a prime candidate. Obviously the others weren't since they definitely died. But Barnes lived. Partly due to the fact that Cap went ahead and saved him from the camp, all the while unaware that his bestie had the serum pumping through his veins.

"Fast forward through some really awful war-stuff, and it's 1945 when Barnes falls from a train to his snowy doom. I mean, it makes sense that Cap thinks he's dead; he doesn't know he's suped up and no Average Joe would survive the fall. In fact, he probably came pretty close to dying even  _with_ the serum. He obviously lost an arm and was probably half-frozen when HYDRA tracked him down and decided to turn him into their pet soldier..."

Letting out a heavy breath, she said, "After that, there's nothing really. Bucky Barnes is presumed dead. But I'd be willing to guess that it's HYDRA that's been keeping him hostage all these years."

Jane shook her head, her face screwed up in shock and confusion. "How did you…? How did  _Zach_ …?"

"Honestly, a lot of it was fill-in-the-blank with history. Political science with a history major, thank you. It took a lot of hacking, but Zach dug up the redacted military stuff on Project Rebirth and the secret serum. The Russian files helped clear some things up on Schmidt's side of things. I guess a few of his soldiers were still semi-loyal to Hitler, or at least double-spying it, just in case one did better than the other. So they passed some information on with the whole testing on sick prisoners thing."

"So…" Foster turned, peering at him. "So, he's an American soldier from the 1940's… that a terrorist group has been using as a contract killer…"

"Wow, way to leave all the thunder out, but yeah, that about sums it up."

"And he lost his memory because of the fall? Hit his head or…?"

He cleared his throat, ignoring the sudden need to shuffle his feet awkwardly. "They erase it. My memory. When I finish a mission, I'm wiped and put away until I'm needed."

Foster winced, her eyes darting away. "That's…  _awful."_

" _See_ ," Lewis pressed.

Foster rolled her eyes. "All right, so he's not your average assassin… As if that makes much difference."

"But it does!" Lewis motioned toward him. "Look, he hesitated for a reason. He doesn't  _want_ to be doing this. He was never supposed to. I mean, come on! He's been forced into working for the enemy. This isn't who he was. He was a guy from Brooklyn that got roped into the war like so many other people back then. And then he was experimented on to feed into some other asshole's need to be superior to everyone else." She stared at Foster seriously, her eyes wide. "Do you know how many history books mention him? Anything to do with World War 2, there's always a mention of Bucky Barnes and the Howling Commandos. Yes, Steve Rogers was amazing. But so was his best friend. They helped end the war, Janey, and for compensation, he got  _this_." She pointed at him, frowning. "I mean, as American citizens, shouldn't we do something about that?"

"Okay, you're laying it on a little thick…" Foster muttered.

"Yeah, probably. But still. I mean, look at it this way, now you know the muscles aren't all for show. He's a super soldier. He can  _totally_ help move all of this junk." At Foster's glare, she amended, "This highly important scientific machinery…"

"Better."

She tipped her head toward her and grinned. "You're welcome." Sobering a moment later, however, she turned to look at him. "So… Information overload or…?"

He was staring at the computer screen, at the image of  _himself_ , or who he was, captured there in black and white. His hair was shorter, his mouth turned up in a half-grin, shoulders loose with relaxation. He had an arm around another man, hooked over his shoulders in camaraderie. He was feeling so much, he couldn't begin to figure out what any of it meant. "What happened to him? To… Rogers."

"Oh, uh…" She chewed her lip. "Well, over the next few months, he dismantles HYDRA, or what it was back then anyway. He tracks down Schmidt and kills him, I guess. Then he's kind of stuck on the plane and something goes wrong with it. Records say it was filled with bombs that were supposed to take out New York or something. He had no choice but to take the plane down… I guess he died in the impact. There's no record of him after that. On March 5th, 1945, it's announced that he 'disappeared.' America was pretty infatuated with him. No surprised; dude was cute. Even before the serum."

He nodded, short and jerky. "So they're all… gone."

Her shoulders fell then and her mouth parted, a furrow building between her eyebrows. She glanced briefly at Foster and then reached up, readjusting her glasses. "I mean, some of them are still alive, but… None of 'em are going to look like you. We could still try though, to find them, if that's what you want."

He set his mouth in a grimace.

She dropped her gaze to the floor then. "Sorry. I guess telling you that you might have a family out there was a pretty shitty thing to do…"

He peered off to the side, his eyes distant and his brow furrowed. He didn't know what to say, or ask. There was so much information just floating around in his head, not all of it ready to stick. After a moment, he said, "Can these be turned on their sides?" as he motioned to a tall, blinking machine.

Foster startled. "I—Wha—Uh, yes. Oh, not that one. But the others can. Just, make sure the tape's secure or things will fall out."

He nodded, and then reached for the dolly.

Foster stepped out of the way, moving to stand beside Lewis.

"One hour," he told them. "Then we'll leave."

As he was sliding the dolly under one of the machines, Foster blurted, " _We?_ "

Darcy shrugged. "Well, he can't teach me to shoot a gun in a day…"

"No  _guns!_ " Foster exclaimed, whirling to glare at her.

"Fine,  _defend myself_. Whatever. Anyway, as long as he's with us, there's less chance the HYDRA goons, or whatever they call themselves these days, will be able to take us out. I mean…" She waved her hand toward him. "They kept him around this long. It's gotta mean something. He's probably their best."

"I am." He said it simply, without hesitation or even pride. It was simply a fact.

" _See?_ So, we take him with, he helps us out for a bit, keeps the other guys off of our backs, and voila."

"That's it?  _That's_ your big plan?" Foster tossed her hands up in exasperation. "We are not towing an assassin, former or not,  _no offense_ , with us wherever we go."

"Well, what's your big plan then? Leave him here and take off for the middle of the desert?" Darcy frowned. "That's not going to fix the assassin issue. They'll just send someone else."

"Which we'll deal with if it happens."

"Not if,  _when_." Lewis moved forward and gripped Foster by her narrow shoulders. "I know I've been making a lot of jokes, but seriously,  _wake up_. You have a target on your back. Yes, we managed to talk this one out of killing you, but I'm pretty sure this is as far as our luck takes us. Look, I'm not saying it's the best plan, but it's the best we've got. He can  _help_ us. He can keep you alive until we figure out what we want to do…" She stared at her boss searchingly.

Pausing in his loading, he looked between them and cleared his throat.

An indecisive and wary Doctor Foster turned to look at him.

He ground his teeth a little before raising his chin. "What they did… I didn't want it. I don't remember a lot, but… I remember that." He stared at Foster, meeting her eyes. "I can help get you to the next site and when I'm sure it's safe… I'll go."

Her gaze skittered over his face, searching for signs of deception. "Just like that? No loopholes? You won't run back to them and tell them where we are or… snap and kill us?"

Truth be told, he had no idea if he would snap. He had no idea about a lot of things. He stretched his fingers out before curling them back into his palm. "She said… There could be something.  _After_. That it was  _my_ life. That's all I want."

Foster's face softened, her eyes darting toward Lewis before returning to him. After a long moment, she said, "You'll stay in the van, not in the trailer with us. And I'm locking the doors at night." She raised her chin a little. "And when it's safe, when you know that HYDRA or the Nazi's or  _whoever_ , isn't going to find us… Then you go. Because she's right, if they kept you that long, you probably are important to them, which means even if they aren't out to kill me, they'll probably try and track you down. I can't risk that.  _We—"_  She motioned to Lewis, "—can't risk that."

He nodded, stiff and short.

"All right. Well…" She looked around and then sighed, her shoulders falling. "Let's get this loaded. The sooner it's done, the sooner we can leave."

As she stalked toward the other side of the room to begin unplugging one of the other machines, Lewis walked over to him. "So… kind of a lot to take in, huh?"

He eyed her a moment. "The man you found… The one you think is me. What was his name again?"

She half-smiled. "James. James Buchanan Barnes." She shrugged, and added, "But I guess most people called him Bucky."

His lips moved slowly, " _Bucky_ …" as if to see how foreign it might taste.

"Yup." Looking over her shoulder, she gauged how far away Foster was and then turned back to him, "So, just between you and me though, you're still gonna teach me how to shoot, right? A deal's a deal,  _muchacho_."

He blinked at her. "I hear you're better with an axe."

Her mouth fell open. "Do you have us  _bugged?_ " She looked around, eyes narrowed, and then put her hands to her hips. "Dude, that is  _so_ uncool. Does this mean you heard me singing? Because I'll have you know, I sound  _way_  better in the shower. This room is shit for acoustics…" As she continued to rant, he returned his attention to finishing loading the machine onto the dolly. All the while, a ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth.

* * *

[ **Present – 2015 – Portugal** ]

Steve's tea had gone cold, sitting absently in his hand. "So… it didn't spark anything? Her telling you your history?" he wondered, angling toward the edge of the chair he sat on, eyeing Bucky curiously.

"Not then. Not right away. I had to prioritize. If I got Foster to safety and I kept HYDRA off their backs, I could learn more. I planned to find out what I could and then see if Darcy could help me find a way out of the country. Or even just mock up an ID for me to use while I started over."

"So what happened?" Sam asked, tossing the empty cracker bag toward the coffee table. "They catch up to you?"

Bucky shook his head. "Since Darcy knew HYDRA would be looking for them, she and Zach started hacking airport logs, saying that her and Foster were headed to a remote town in Norway."

Sam nodded, smiling slowly. "So then they had to split their attention or focus on one task. Either get you back or track Foster down. And who's gonna stay in New Mexico when they just had an assassin try to take them out? They probably figured you went rogue and she got smart and tried to hide. So while they're chasing a fake lead, you three are holed up a few hours away from where you started. It's  _smart_. Dangerous, but smart."

Frowning, Steve sat back, doing the math in his head. "Thor didn't travel here until 2010, so… were you there, with them, the whole time?"

Bucky's lips pursed. "Jane wasn't comfortable at first. It took time to… earn her trust. When I did, she let me stay. We were… She was my friend." He throat bobbed as he swallowed tightly. "You said she was okay?"

Steve nodded. "I haven't met her, but… I know Stark mentioned that he had a new addition to the tower, an astrophysicist. With Foster's ties to Thor, Stark probably had her move in, start working for him, as a way to keep her safe."

Bucky's shoulders loosened a little at the news. But then he went still, his eyes hard and his mouth set in a firm line. The tea cup in his hand suddenly shattered, sending liquid all over his hand. He didn't even flinch in acknowledgement.

"Hey. You okay?" Sam wondered.

Buck looked up, blinked, and then wiped the cold tea off on his pants.

"If I'm right, Doctor Foster will be at Stark Tower. You'll see for yourself she's okay when we get back…" Steve stared at him searchingly. "You were close to her too?"

It took him a moment to answer, and Steve wondered if it was because he was deciding how much or how little to share. Finally, Bucky said, "I stayed with them for almost a year. Darcy finished her internship and then decided to stay on and help Jane with her research. It wasn't what she wanted to do, but, by then, it seemed safer sticking together…" He shook his head. "When I had to leave, when… I realized it wasn't safe for me to stay anymore, Darcy wanted to come with me. And Jane wasn't going to let her. She said it was too dangerous. That Darcy didn't know what she was getting into… She was right. She was scared for her, and she was right. But we…  _I…_ " He clenched his teeth. "I couldn't walk away from her." His hand gripped the arm of the chair so tight that the wood under the fabric whined. "So I told Jane I would keep Darcy safe. I wouldn't let anything happen to her. And she… believed me."

Silence followed for a long, heavy moment.

And then Steve murmured, "You can't blame yourself for what HYDRA did."

Bucky raised his eyes, narrow and bitter, and pinned them on Steve. "I knew what could happen. I knew that they could find us and that if they got their hands on Darcy, they would ruin her. But I didn't let that stop me. Because I was  _selfish_. And Janey knew that. But she wanted to believe we'd be okay. She  _trusted_ me. And I failed her. I'll be lucky if she doesn't kill me the second she sees me." He winced. "I'd deserve it."

Steve's head fell, his eyes dropping to the floor, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He wanted to say something; he wanted to find the right words to make things better, to alleviate some of Bucky's burden. But what could he say? He didn't know enough, not about Darcy and not about Bucky's relationship with either woman, for him to safely assure him that things would be okay. Still, there was that building urge lodged in his throat to say  _something_.

Before he could open his mouth, the distinct sound of helicopter blades could be heard, and Steve's phone pinged. He reached down to check the screen to find a message from Natasha—" _Bring out your dumb_." He knew it was a reference, he just wasn't sure what to. So all he replied with was— _On our way._

"Looks like our ride's here," Sam said, climbing off the couch. "Guess you'll find out what the good doctor thinks soon enough."

Bucky grimaced, but stood from his chair, his chin raised and his shoulders back.

Steve sighed as he walked ahead toward the door. He just hoped that when they got back to the tower, Bucky was greeted by a friend in Doctor Foster, and not an enemy. At this point, they needed something good. Bucky was holding it together, but Steve could see that he was fraying at the seams. Eventually, he would break, and Steve wasn't sure what he would do then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is where I apologize for not updating for almost a year. that was super lame of me. in my defense, school got busy, and then I was totally stolen by a new otp. but, as per usual, my love for darcy always steals me back, so here I am, trying to finish up all the stories I began. And yes, before you ask, I do plan on working on the others. please don't ask which, they'll all get updates eventually.
> 
> next chapter covers the time bucky spent with jane and darcy in puente antiguo. there'll be less steve and sam because it's basically all a flashback before bucky is reunited with in part six. so i hope you're excited to read that!
> 
> again, sorry for the long wait, i really hope some of you are still interested in seeing where this goes!
> 
> thank you all for reading! try to leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
> 
> \- **lee | fina**


	5. Building Blocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **polyvore** : darcy [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=170624447)] | jane [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=170623718)]

**V**.

[ **Present – 2015 – Portugal** ]

Getting in the helicopter was a lesson in trust. Aside from Rogers and maybe Wilson, he recognized that the pilot of the helicopter was not  _his_  ally. Rogers' ally, yes, but not his. Regardless, he had a mission. He had a target, and in order to reach that target he had to use the tools at his disposal. While not an ally, the red-headed pilot was familiar; she'd allied herself with Rogers and Wilson in DC. She nodded her head at him briefly before turning her attention to the other two.

"Ready for home, Boys, or do we need to pick up any more strays?"

"Personally, I'm ready to get home, climb into my own bed," Sam answered, readjusting his headset.

He was all strapped into the seat beside Rogers, who was looking pensive. The red-head – Romanoff – had sent a ladder down for them to climb while she hovered above the street. No doubt, it would draw attention.

"We're good," Rogers said, looking back at her. "Take us in."

"Aye, aye, Captain," she replied, lips curled faintly.

A barrage of bullets suddenly sprayed the door, however, and Romanoff abruptly swung the helicopter to the side before leveling out.

Readjusting himself, he looked out the window and peered down at where a handful of HYDRA agents stood, guns at the ready. One raised a rocket launcher to his shoulder, ready to take them out mid-air. A risky move, but the chances he or Rogers would survive were technically higher than the average human.

Before the agent could pull the trigger, however, a hand clapped down on the shaft and shoved it downward. Darcy stepped forward and stared up at them, her face stoic and pale. She'd lost her tan, he thought absently. It shouldn't surprise him. It'd been so long since they were in Greece, since the sun had warmed her skin. She'd loved the beaches, the sand between her toes – "Hey, come build a sand castle with me! Let's show up these six year old hotshots with their mediocre moats…" – she could spend her whole day on the beach and never complain. Now she looked like the sun hadn't kissed her skin in years, confined to the windowless rooms they'd kept them in on base. She always hated that. The absence of freedom so clearly apparent.

The helicopter moved forward, en route back to the States, leaving her behind to stand among the enemy. He had to swallow back his guilt as a wave of nausea hit him.  _Please forgive me_ , he thought.  _I'm coming back for you. I am_.

As if he knew what he was thinking, Rogers' voice reached him through the headset he wore. "We'll get her back," he promised.

He raised his eyes to meet the man across from him, looking equally sincere and serious. Maybe it was naïve, to put so much stock in this man, but he did. He wanted to believe that Steve Rogers was telling the truth. That he would do everything in his power to help him get Darcy back. He'd been relentless in his pursuit of him, constantly on his tail, just wanting to bring him home, to  _help_ him. And from what he remembered, that was what he did, what they both did. They looked out for each other, supported one another, and never backed down.

He knew what Darcy would say; he knew she'd tell him to trust Rogers, along with some terrible joke –"Always trust a man willing to wear booty shorts to support his country." Truth be told, he did trust Rogers to an extent. Not just because Darcy would want him to, but because even with the gaps in his memory, one thing had always been true – Steve Rogers would always do what he believed was the right thing, and leaving her to suffer in the hands of HYDRA could never be right.

"We got a long ride ahead of us, Boys, so get comfortable," Romanoff said over the headset.

* * *

[ **2007 – Puente** **Antiguo **, New Mexico**** ]

"So, what are your feelings on Froot Loops?" Lewis asked, plopping down into a seat across from him.

He blinked at her, watching as she filled a bowl with brightly colored, ring-shaped, cereal pieces. She shook the box at him and then pushed it in his direction while she grabbed up the milk and poured it over her cereal. "Janey, when were the Loops created?"

"What?" Foster scratched her head with a pen, scowling when it got caught in her hair. Huffing, she untangled it and said, "Uh, '62, I think."

Lewis nodded sagely. "A.H."

Foster frowned at her.

"After HYDRA," she clarified before returning her attention to him across the table. " _Look_." She popped a green ring into her mouth. "Not poison. Just sugary goodness." She poked the box closer to him. "Have some."

"Don't force him. If he doesn't want any, don't make him," Foster told her, before muttering an equation under her breath and scribbling it on a spare grocery receipt.

"He's been here three days, he hasn't eaten anything." Lewis rolled her eyes. "If you wanna eat something else, you gotta tell me. I make all the grocery runs, so if I need to add something to the list…"

He stared at her and then pursed his lips. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for the cereal box and tipped it over, filling his bowl. He doused it with milk before he grabbed up the spoon and dipped it in the bowl. He could feel her eyes on him, curious, happy, so he took a bite, and then another.

"So?" Impatiently, she wondered, "You like it?"

He shrugged.

Sighing, she said, "I'm gonna need more than that, Buckster." She put an elbow on the table and scooped up another bite for herself. "Personally, I was a Cheerios girl growing up. Mom wasn't keen on the really sugary stuff, so I only got that when I visited dad on the weekends. But Cheerios she was good with. Now I can eat all the unhealthy cereal I want, as long as it doesn't interrupt the Poptarts budget."

He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. Lewis was less mechanic in her eating. She was purposely only eating the red rings first, then the yellow. She'd flick them off her spoon when she accidentally scooped up one that didn't fit her color scheme. He raised a curious brow. There was no distinct flavor depending on color, so he couldn't understand her motive. "They're all the same flavor," he told her.

Lewis shrugged. "So?"

"So it takes more time to color coordinate them."

"You going somewhere?"

He considered her question and then shook his head.

"Good. Then you've got time to eat how you want." She pointed her spoon at him, milk dripping off it. "You're not just eating to eat. Savor it.  _Try_  stuff, find out what you like and what you don't. There's a whole new flavor scheme out there your taste buds have never known; take advantage of it. If I could go back and taste chocolate for the first time, I totally would. Orgasm for the mouth, man."

" _Darcy_ ," Foster sighed.

" _Hey_ , you have your Poptarts, I have chocolate.  _Let me live_."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I have data I need to work on. You're correlating today, right?"

"Sure. Right after breakfast. I still have some organizing to do.  _Somebody_ got impatient and just threw whatever into the nearest crate instead of paying attention to the labels I put on them…"

Foster walked to the coffee machine. "We had an assassin chasing us, I think I was entitled to a little panicking."

"Yeah, well, now he's eating our Froot Loops, so talk about taking a right into Wrongsville."

Rubbing her temple like she had a headache, Foster walked off to her white board, sipping at her coffee.

Lewis grinned to herself and then returned her attention to him. "So, now that you've tried Froot Loops, I'm thinking we'll pick something else up next time. Maybe something healthier and we'll work you up to like Cookie Crisp. Sound good?"

He shrugged.

Shaking her head, she told him, "You can say 'no.' I'm not going to freak out or something. All of this is new for you, I get that, but it's  _your_  life now. You get to decide what you want to do. Or not do. Whichever." Picking up her bowl, she drank the leftover milk, and then licked the milk mustache from her upper lip before leaving her seat to bring her bowl to the sink.

He stared at her back as she rinsed it out, and when she started toward her desk, he cleared his throat. "Can I… I want to learn what I missed," he said.

Turning back to him, she stared him in the eye, and then nodded. "I collate the data on Jane's computer. You can use my laptop." She grabbed it up off her desk and brought it to him. Opening it, she clicked around and brought up a page. She was leaning in against his shoulder and the faint scent of vanilla wafted off her. He quickly turned his attention forward.

"This is Google. You see this… This is the search engine. Just put in what you want to know and it'll tell you. So… Let's see… Um, okay… Here…" Her fingers moved over the buttons, similar to, but a more modern version of, a typewriter. "Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire were a big deal back in the thirties, right? So if you put their names in… It shows you clips about them or their history or whatever. Then you just click on whatever you want and it'll bring you to it… Like this, see, it's a biography on Ginger Rogers. You can read it or skim it, whatever. Then you just write the next thing you want in the search engine and it'll take you to that. Got it?"

He blinked, and then reached for the laptop. "I think so."

"Okay, well, you got any questions, I'm over here," she said, before moving back to her desk.

Nodding, he readjusted the computer in front of him. His fingers hovered over the keys as he stared at the search engine bar. There was so much time to cover, so many things he didn't know, he had no idea where to start.

"You have time, you know? You don't have to learn everything right," she told him. "Start small."

He nodded, but still found himself staring. A minute passed, and then another, before finally he typed in J-a-m-e-s B-u-c-h-a-n-a-n B-a-r-n-e-s.

And the journey began.

Three hours later, Lewis stood from her desk, stretching her arms high above her head and wiggling around to crack her back. Meandering over to him, she eyed the screen curiously and blinked. "How'd you get onto cat videos on YouTube?" she laughed.

He frowned, and then looked back at her, his brow furrowed. "I… don't know."

With a laugh, she patted his shoulder. "Happens to the best of us." Walking off to the coffee machine, she poured herself a mug of coffee and then dug around in a cupboard, coming up with three wrapped bars. On her way back, she paused beside his table, unwrapped the top of one, took a bite of it, and then handed it to him.

He eyed the bar dubiously and then took it, chewing off a bite. Chocolate, granola, and peanuts hit his tongue; he considered it an improvement on breakfast and gave a short nod.

She grinned at him and then took the two other bars and her coffee with her as she left. Unwrapping one of the bars, she put it in Foster's hand, who ate it absently, without question. Finally, Lewis wandered back to her desk and data, remaining bar for her to snack on.

Taking another bite, he sat back in his seat a little, and let himself get absorbed in what was on the screen.

* * *

Foster didn't talk to him much. He couldn't say he blamed her. He did technically try to kill her. But she wasn't kicking him out just yet either. For the most part, she seemed resigned to his existence in her life. He spent each night sleeping in the van, wrapped tight in two blankets, his head on a thick pillow. He struggled most nights; nightmares and confusing, broken memories plagued him. He woke up panting, dressed in a cold sweat, his eyes darting around, searching for an enemy that was still fresh in his mind.

It took him a while to figure out where he was, sometimes he didn't figure it out until he was already gone, walking aimlessly in the desert, other times he realized sooner. Either way, he always ended up taking a walk. The desert was cold at night; sometimes he just wrapped a blanket around himself and wandered, eventually returning to the site as the sun started to rise.

Foster was an early riser; more than once, she'd be leaving the trailer just as he was returning, cold and haunted. She never said anything, but she would pour him a mug of coffee when he followed her inside to sit at the table.

It was peaceful, how quiet Foster was. Lewis was a mini-hurricane, always talking and moving. He liked that too. It kept him busy, distracted, so he couldn't get lost in his head. In many ways, he'd found the two women were polar opposites. Where Foster was facts and statistics, Lewis was theory and feelings. Foster was order and Lewis was chaos. Foster was three-feet of personal space while Lewis never missed a chance to invade it. But as different as they were, they found a balance with each other. Eventually, Foster's order became disordered; her focus became too focused. She lost sight of herself and only saw the endgame. That was where Lewis stepped in, and her chaos became logical intervention. She became Foster's compass, guiding her toward human tendencies when the science took over.

It was interesting to watch, and he found himself wondering if, in time, the scale might change for him. For as long as he could remember, he was only the asset. He was the answer to an order. He worked within a construct of 'what will achieve the best end result, quickly and sufficiently.' But this,  _living_ , making his own choices, there was no real 'end result.' It was an on-going experience, one he still had trouble comprehending completely. But maybe that was part of it.

Lewis had an early morning grocery run on her schedule. She walked into the lab with her hair tied up in a knot, her bag hanging across his chest and at her hip. "All right. Is there anything else I need to get? Last minute additions to the list?" she wondered, grabbing the grocery money out of a coffee tin on top of the fridge. "Jane? Anything?"

"Hm?" Looking up from her work, she blinked at Darcy. "Oh. No. I'm fine. Just—"

"Strawberry Poptarts. I know." She nodded, and then looked toward him. "What about you? Anything you want? Fruit? Chocolate? Chocolate covered fruit?"

He was about to shrug when he paused, a faint memory, fuzzy but there, lingering at the edges. "Oranges?"

She grinned, brows hiked. "Oranges." She pointed at him and sucked her teeth. "I can do that." Walking to the door, she dug the van keys out of her bag. "All right. I'll be gone an hour, maybe two. No wild parties, you too. Or I'll be very disappointed."

As she walked away, he found himself sitting in silence once more, the laptop open in front of him. He'd been slowly learning what he could about the history he'd missed while he was… forcibly detained. Some topics he'd only skimmed before wandering away and reading other articles. Lewis had told him to never take anything at face value. That if he found one article stating something, he should double and triple check "the sources" to see if it was proven elsewhere. ("The internet's one of those information holes. Some people just make shit up. You've gotta research it, make sure what you're finding is true. Back up your stuff, you know?") Not really. But he was starting to get it. Anybody could put anything on the internet, just for the sake of it. So he had to be curious, he had to question what he learned. That was new. For so long, he'd just been told; what to do, what to think. Now he got to decide what he believed, what he  _wanted_.

A half-hour passed and he still hadn't typed anything into the search engine. He'd already read up on World War One and Two, as well as Vietnam and a little on Iraq. It was… overwhelming. And sad. He eventually ended up back on YouTube, watching animal videos. They were easy; he didn't have to think or question or wonder there. It was just something small and innocent venturing out into the world, curious and unhampered.

Foster let out an annoyed groan and started wiping vigorously at the white board, erasing the equation she was working on before she started over. She chewed on her lip, her brow furrowed tightly. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a plaid shirt. He knew from monitoring them previously that when she really got stuck in a "science spiral," as Lewis called them, that she would forget to shower or change. Sometimes she'd wake up in the middle of the night and wander out in her pajamas, spending days in the same clothes, working on whatever had popped into her head at the time. So far, she was pretty put together. He wondered if that had to do with him being there, though. If she was being more careful in letting her guard down now that she knew there were people out there that had painted a target on her back. Maybe it was better she knew. Did it hamper her work? Possibly. But at least she was  _alive_  to work.

"You're staring."

He blinked, and turned his eyes a few inches to the right of her.

"What?" she wondered. "Do you have a question…? Something to say…?"

He paused, then shook his head.

She let out a heavy sigh and then tossed her marker to the desk before turning and walking toward him, her hands on her hips. "I'm not like Darcy. I don't… I don't trust people like she does. I'm not…" She shook her head. "I don't know how to explain it, but she… wants to believe in the best. In people. In  _you_. That's not…. It's not what I do. I'm a  _scientist_. I work with facts. And the only facts I really have about you are that you're an assassin. Or you  _were_  one. Either way, it just… Look, I—I'm trying to understand. I'm trying to accept this… this  _insane_ idea that you, somehow,  _miraculously_ , survived a fall off a mountain that should have killed you…  _Seventy_ years ago. I'm trying to accept that some crazy Nazi-related World War Two terrorist organization has been keeping you locked up in a freezer, mind-wiping you and controlling you and it— It's hard. It's science fiction level weird. But…" She blew out a heavy breath. "But for some reason, and I don't know why, but you had the chance. You could have pulled that trigger. Could have ended all of this. And you didn't. So maybe I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe I'm just as crazy as Darcy is. But you're here now and there's no changing that. So, that's it, I guess. I just… needed to say that."

She turned on her heel to march back to her drawing board when he cleared his throat.

"She reminds me of someone," he managed to say, his voice low and hesitant. "I… I don't know  _who_. I just… She stepped in front of you and it…  _unraveled_. I couldn't  _think._  Or  _obey_. Or… anything. I just froze."

She looked back at him, warily then. "So what happens if you don't? Next time, I mean. What if you don't freeze?"

Something dark shifted inside him as he answered, "There won't be a next time. I'm not going back.  _Ever_."

Humming, she continued to stare. Time passed, nothing but the ticking of the clock filling the room. And then—

"Where do you go?" she finally asked, lifting her chin. "At night. Or in the morning, when you're coming back. Where do you go?"

"Away." His gaze fell to the floor, guilt or shame,  _something,_ crawling up the back of his neck. "I have… nightmares. When I wake up, I'm disoriented. So I leave. Eventually, when I figure out where I am, I keep walking, until I'm sure I'm okay."

"Until you know you're not a threat. To us," she said knowingly, quietly.

He raised his eyes to meet hers, and then nodded shortly.

"I'm not going to lie. That's… It's  _scary_. That it happens. That you think you might be dangerous."

He dropped his eyes again.

"But… Maybe if you're leaving, if you're staying away until you're sure, maybe that's a good sign… PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, it's not something you can just fix. And after everything you went through, you're going to have some setbacks. But at least, on some level, you're aware and you're taking precautions. That's something. "

He hummed. "Maybe," he allowed.

With a shrug, she grabbed up her marker and said no more, returning to her work. Taking the cue, he returned his attention to the computer in front of him. In the search engine he slowly typed in P-T-S-D.

An hour later, Lewis returned, laden down with bags. "A little help?" she grunted.

He hopped up from his chair to relieve her of the majority of the bags and carried them to the counter, beginning to unload them while she grabbed a few more from the van. He paused on the bag of oranges, something warm ( _appreciation?_ ) shifting in his chest.

As she bounced back into view, she overturned a bag onto the counter in front of him. "Check it out! I did some Googling and all of these chocolate bars were around back when you were younger." She rubbed her hands together. "We got Kit Kat, 3 Musketeers, Milky Way,  _oooh_ , Crunch. I loved these as a kid." She bumped her hip against his. "Prepare for a chocolate hangover, Barnes."

Foster popped up then; she reached between them and stole a Kit Kat. "You know, they've probably changed in flavor over time," she warned.

Lewis stuck her tongue at her. "Don't ruin the fun with your logic."

"I'm just saying… Recipes change. Plus, the sugar intake was different in the 30's. It's increased a lot. And recipes evolve with culture and what people like. Things would change to stay relevant."

"Always stealing my thunder with your rational arguments."

As they devolved into bickering, he unwrapped a Milky Way and took a bite. It was good, he decided. He would add it to the short list of things he enjoyed.

* * *

He did a perimeter sweep once every hour, except for the time he got completely absorbed by the internet.

"It's a black hole," Lewis said with a shrug.

After that, he started timing himself. Lewis found an old watch in her things; the strap was broken, but otherwise, it worked fine. He used the timer to let him know when it was time for another walk around. He changed up which time he would do his perimeter check each day to be sure he wasn't setting a schedule somebody could follow. And when he was feeling particularly paranoid, he'd go out multiple times in a one hour period, just in case.

"You don't think this is a little excessive?" Foster called to him, raising an eyebrow.

She was on the roof, papers collected under the legs of her lawn chair and a giant steaming mug of coffee in her hands. For such a small woman, she put away a lot of caffeine.

"I said I would keep you safe. I take that seriously," he answered. With a carefully placed jump, he used a ledge to pull himself up and was soon sitting on the edge of the roof, a few feet from her, looking out over the sleepy town.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?" she wondered. "When you leave, I mean."

He shrugged. Not really. He was actively  _not_ thinking about it, actually. He would have to get lost, literally. Escape somewhere, lay low, disappear into the shadows. No more blankets or dessert walks or 'here, try this' cereal in the morning. He was beginning to enjoy his time with the two women; they were interesting, and they absorbed him into their routine like he was something other than what he was. A friend, maybe.

"I've been thinking about it," she admitted.

He looked back at her over his shoulder, a brow raised curiously.

"You don't really  _have_ anyone. You're in a completely foreign world. I mean, some things are the same, but a lot of it is just… unfamiliar. Which means you don't have anywhere to go, not really. See, if I needed to go away, I have my mom. Darcy needs to run, she has family. I know, technically, those are bad choices, because they're easy marks, right? I mean, of course the first place HYDRA would look is where you feel safe, with people you trust. But I'm making a point. We have family and friends; they'd help us hide or pass us around so we were always moving, out of reach. But you… You're alone. You've got no one to step in and tell you it's going to be okay or to help you plan your escape."

Her words weren't meant to hurt, but they did. They dug into a wound he couldn't completely comprehend, he just knew it was there, gaping wide. He was stuck in a different time with little memory and nobody who could help him cope. Freedom was bittersweet in that way.

"So I've just been thinking… Darcy, she's good with computers and hacking. Her or her friend, Zach, they can help mock you up the right ID or passport or whatever. But it's more than that. Geography's changed, places aren't what they used to be. Like the Soviet Union, not a thing anymore. And I know you're learning a lot on the internet —although I'd caution you to be critical of whatever you do find— I just think it might be helpful if we work out a plan. We can help navigate you, I guess. Darcy probably knows more about the political standing of certain places, just in case you want to focus on countries without extradition policies or something."

He paused for a moment, thinking over what she'd said. "You don't like having me here." A reminder? A fact? He wasn't sure.

"I don't like the circumstances that brought you here," she corrected. "Look, it's not just about you. It's about Darcy too. She's headstrong and a little reckless, as you've seen. She's my intern, and my friend, I have to think about her safety. And, no offense, but having an assassin for a roommate isn't exactly the safest idea we've ever had."

"I'd be worried if it was," he murmured, turning forward once more and squinting as the sun landed on a metal chimney, the reflection catching his eyes. "A plan would help… Thank you."

"Sure." She was quiet for a moment, and then, "For the record, what they did to you, it was wrong. You shouldn't punish yourself for things that weren't in your control."

He hummed, unsure how to respond to that. And then he pushed off the edge and landed on the ground below, deciding to continue his perimeter check. She didn't seem surprised, and when he returned later, she merely tossed him a granola bar.

* * *

"You're holding it wrong," he sighed.

"Well, you never showed me how to hold it right," Lewis complained, waving the gun irritably.

He caught her wrist before she accidentally shot someone. Chances were it, it'd be him. He couldn't afford the nuisance of a bullet wound right now. "Both hands," he told her, moving to stand at her back. He readjusted the way she was standing and tapped her shoulders. "Loosen up. The pressure will hurt if you're tense."

Rolling her shoulders, she tried to loosen up, and then bounced side to side. "I need to get into yoga again."

He tipped his head curiously. "Yoga?"

She brightened. "Oh, dude, me and you, we're doing that." She looked him up and down. "Definitely. We'll tie your hair in a little man-bun, get you some sweatpants or something. I think Jane has a yoga mat she never uses; we'll borrow it. Awesome. It's gonna be good. I miss being bendy."

He raised an eyebrow but then returned to the situation and readjusted her hands on the grip of the gun. Stepping behind her, he bent a little to make sure the sight was good. Overlapping her hand, he tucked her finger over the trigger. "You're gonna squeeze, not pull. Not yet. Breathe. Focus. Take your time."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then another, and another. "How much time?" she finally asked.

His lips tipped faintly. "Until you're sure."

"Sure I want to murder this bottle? I don't think it has a family. Not that having bottle-children would make it any more or less important than other bottles..."

He blinked at her, shaking his head, and she grinned, pleased with herself. " _Focus_ ," he reminded, catching her chin and turning it forward once more.

"Okay,  _fine_ , Miyagi."

He took a mental note to look that up later. He had to do that a lot with Lewis. She tossed references out for everything, and she never explained their origins, just pointed at the computer. " _Figure it out for yourself, Padawan."_

Taking one long inhale, she let it out, and gently squeezed the trigger. She missed, but the bullet still hit the post the bottle was on. He tapped her shoulder and said, "Again."

"I will. High five first though. I mean, no one's bleeding, that deserves congratulations all on its own." She held her hand up expectantly; he stared at it for exactly four seconds before finally raising his own hand. She slapped it, grinning, and then raised the gun again. "Oh, hey, if Jane asks—"

"You joined me on a perimeter check because you were bored."

"Right." She bobbed her head approvingly. "Because collating data makes my brain leak out of my ears."

"You can't shoot data," he said, straightening her elbow.

She grinned. "Technically, I could shoot the computer. Or, well,  _Jane_ , but she's so small, she'd probably bleed out in a minute flat. And then the stars would be lonely."

"The stars would survive. You, not so much."

" _Hey_." She paused. "Actually I can't tell if that was an insult..."

"Observation," he corrected.

"True," she admitted after a moment's consideration. "Janey's my sister from another mister."

He glanced at her, confused.

"Not literally," she clarified. "It's a saying. There's no genetic material shared between us… that I know of."

"You act like sisters," he said slowly. And then added, slightly unsure, "I had a sister."

"You did." She nodded, peering at him curiously. "Rebecca Barnes. She was eighteen when you went to war… She passed away in 2002. I, uh… I'm sorry."

His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, brow furrowed. "I don't remember her. Not really. Can't miss what you don't remember."

"Sure, you can."

He looked up and caught her eye.

Flicking the safety on the gun, she dropped it to a table beside them and turned so she was facing him better. "Eventually, those memories will come back. You'll miss her more then. But even not remembering, you still miss the lack of memories. You  _know_ you had a sister, a family, people who loved you. And you know you don't have them now. Not remembering their faces or their names or whatever doesn't make the absence of them hurt any less. It's okay to be sad, Bucky. You have every right to miss them."

He stared at her face, full of sincerity. If he'd learned anything about Lewis it was that she preferred humor, she used it to defuse situations and avoid emotional fallout. But when she cared, when she wanted to be supportive, she could be. She did it with Jane, and now she was doing it with him. He didn't know what that meant, but there was something warm in his chest that told him he liked it.

She stared at him a long moment, examining his reaction, and then it seemed the heaviness of the moment finally got to her and she turned back around, grabbing up the gun. "Let's kill some bottles, huh?"

"Straighten your elbow."

She listened, readjusting her stance too.

When she pulled the trigger, the glass didn't shatter, but she was getting closer. Progress, small as it was,  _mattered_.

* * *

Foster was having a crisis. She was having what Lewis had dubbed a  _science fart_  – ("It's like a brain-fart, but more science-y") – whatever that meant. All he really knew was that she was getting upset, speaking in fractions of sentences, and looking for "the thing, you know, with the pink and the writing and the little—" She made a motion with her finger. "—at the bottom, in the corner, with the other thing on it."

He blinked at her, and then slowly scanned the room, because he'd just learned he did not speak 'Fluent Foster' and he probably never would.

"Ugh. Where's Darcy? She'd know. She codes everything. And her codes make  _no sense_ , except to her." She tossed a few papers around on the desk.

Personally, he thought she was making a bigger, and more complicated, mess that would only result in her losing more things later. But he was smart enough not to say that.

"Lewis went on a Poptart run," he reminded her, because she'd sent Lewis to the store approximately 14 minutes ago, and it would take at least ten more before she returned. The only store open at this hour that still sold strawberry Poptarts was across town. Lewis took the van; while there was no traffic, the distance there and back was enough to eat up at least 25 minutes, not accounting for any interference.

"Ugh. I just—need her to pick up her phone." She threw her own cell phone down with a grunt and started going through the desk drawer, looking for the "thing."

He decided not to point out that Lewis' phone was charging by the coffee maker, because she was already agitated enough. It bothered him though. He'd told Lewis more than once that she needed to keep her phone charged and on her person at all times, so she could call if anything happened. Going with her was an option, but he wanted to minimize how many of the townspeople saw him and, since Foster was the main target, he thought he should stick closer to her. That didn't make him any less antsy when Lewis was out, though.

It was as he was looking at Lewis' charging phone that he spotted a pink post-it note on the fridge, with scribbles and a small drawing in the corner. He walked toward it, his head cocked to the side. Peeling it from the freezer door, he calmly walked toward Foster. She was on her knees, overturning a wastebasket when he held it out.

Abruptly stopping, she blinked, staring at the post-it hanging off his metal finger.

"This it?"

She squinted, then snatched it. " _Yes_." Taking it with her, she began mumbling four-syllable-long words to herself and placed the post-it on her board in a specific spot with all the other yellow, green, and orange post-its she'd written on. Grabbing her marker up, she pulled the cap off with her teeth and got back to work, this time writing faster. Staring at her, he found his mind wandering, to a little girl with brown hair, a notebook in front of her. (" _Buck!_  I aced my spelling test. Did ma tell you? I'm the best speller in the  _whole_  class. Teacher said I might even get into the spelling bee next month if I keep it up.") She had freckles across the bridge of her nose; they were darker in the summer. And she lost her front tooth, the right one, it made a whistling noise when she talked. Her hair was in two messy braids that reached her shoulders, and she wore a necklace, a gold heart, dented on one side. It was their mother's, passed down to her. Rebecca was always smart, and she never let him forget it.

He flinched.

"She onto something?"

Startled, his head swiveled abruptly to the right. "Lewis," he bit out, his silver hand flexing, panic spinning down his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

She scrunched up her mouth. "You should call me Darcy. 'Lewis' makes me think of my Phys Ed teacher in high school… ' _Lewis_ , stop faking cramps, that's the third time this month. Climb the damn rope.' Ball-buster. Where's the female solidarity, am I right?"

He blinked at her.

With a shrug, she turned forward once more. "You kicking science's ass, Janey?"

Foster didn't answer, but Lewis — _Darcy_ — seemed content. She put the Poptarts away in the cupboard and then looked over at him. "Perimeter check?" she asked.

His watch went off a split-second later, and she grinned. Was he getting predictable or was that just another Darcy thing? He'd change up his routine again just to be sure, but he got the feeling she'd just adapt and figure him out. It didn't bother him as much as it should.

* * *

After a late-night patrol, he found the girls sitting in lawn chairs on the roof with blankets across their legs and a thermos of hot chocolate shared between them. He climbed up to sit on the edge of the roof scanning the ground below before tipping his head back and peering curiously at the sky above, littered with stars.

"Hey, come get some cocoa," Darcy told him.

He looked back at her and then turned over onto one knee and stretched an arm out for the mug she held in his direction. Crossing his legs under him, he sat facing them.

"The floating white things are marshmallows. Ooh gooey melted goodness."

He hummed and blew on the dark, steaming liquid, letting the heat of the mug seep into his palm.

Darcy kicked her legs, bouncing her heels on the roof. He could see the top of her wool sock peeking out of one boot. "All right, hit us with some space science, Janey."

Foster snorted, but leaned back a little and stared up at the sky, her brow furrowed. "What do you know about black holes?"

"Only what Star Trek's told me. But I'm guessing you've got something more concrete. So hit us with it, Doc."

Foster shook her head, like she often did when Darcy's lack of science background was brought up. " _Well_ …" She launched into 'lecture voice' but the passion and excitement was still there, underlying her words. And Darcy, though she often pretended she didn't care much for science, listened intently, humming and asking questions when warranted.

He listened too, his eyes set above, watching the stars twinkle back at him.

"Look, shooting star!" Darcy suddenly piped up, and kicked her foot out, nudging his arm. "Make a wish."

"Technically, that's not a star…" Foster informed her.

"Shush. Don't ruin it. Just close your eyes and wish." She squeezed her own shut and her lips moved faintly with her wish, too quiet to hear.

Despite her complaint, Foster too closed her eyes and made a wish. He looked between them and then above, and, hesitantly, he closed his eyes. And wished for more nights like these.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the smile on Darcy's lips. She didn't say anything about it; she just winked.

He dropped his gaze then and sipped at his cocoa.

* * *

[ **Present – 2015 – Unknown** ]

"We need to make a pit-stop," Romanoff's voice crackled through the headphones, drawing his attention back to the present. "Top off the gas."

"All right," Rogers acknowledged.

"Could be good. Gives you a chance to check in with Stark before we show up on his roof," she replied, her voice lined with subtle warning.

Rogers stiffened, his mouth pursed. "You think he'll be a problem?"

"You've read the file on the Winter Soldier," she reminded. "You know what he did. Stark does too."

Rogers turned his eyes out the window. "Wasn't his fault. He didn't  _know_."

"He can hear you," he interrupted them.

Rogers looked back at him, grimacing apologetically. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"I killed his parents," he interrupted. "I killed…  _Howard_."

Rogers' eyes fell for a moment, and he sighed. Looking up once more, he nodded. "Yeah. You did."

The smart thing to do was probably avoid Stark, at least until things were easier, less complicated. But Stark had resources, necessary ones. Not to mention… "You're sure Jane's there? With Stark?"

Rogers paused, mouth slightly ajar with a lack of answer.

"She is," Romanoff answered. "Jane Foster, right? Astrophysicist? She lives in the tower, with Thor."

Rogers breathed a sigh of relief, as if he thought he'd run otherwise. Then again, maybe he would. There was still a chance for it when they landed. But that would mean less help, and, much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed it. If Rogers hadn't stopped him, then the moment she hopped off that truck he would've turned himself in. It wasn't safe, or right, for either of them. He knew that. But there was a part of him that ready to do anything, as long as they were together. Darcy would want him to fight. She'd tell him to stay away and make a plan. And while he was sitting across from a man well known for his strategizing techniques, it wasn't him who came to mind.

It was Jane.

Jane who'd gone over escape routes with him and options for traveling across Europe and finding places, hostels, he could stay in. Jane who made three other back-up plans for Canada, the UK, and the States, just in case. Jane who told him when he left, "Don't tell me which one you'll use. Just… stay safe. Okay? And check in, when you can, let me know you made it."

He wasn't okay, not really, but it was time he checked in. So he would.

"I need to see Jane," he said resolutely, staring at Rogers seriously.

He stared back a long moment, and then he nodded.

The helicopter landed smoothly. Rogers pushed the door open and climbed out, digging his phone from his pocket. While Romanoff fueled up the helicopter, Rogers walked away, phone to his ear. "Stark, it's Rogers… we need to talk…"

He stared after him a long moment, his teeth clenched.

"You excited?" Sam wondered, drawing his attention back to him.

He raised an eyebrow in silent question,  _Excited?_

"It's been a while since you saw her, right? But you were close. You and Dr. Foster."

He nodded slowly. "She was… She was like a sister," he finally said.

Humming, Sam half-smiled. "You know the funny thing about siblings? They yell at you when you screw up, might even knock you on your ass, but they always help you up after."

He frowned. "Even when you don't deserve it?"

"That's what family does. They support you, believe in you, carry you when you can't carry yourself." He stared at him thoughtfully. "She your family?"

He gave a short, decisive nod.

"Good. Then maybe don't worry so much." Sam grinned. "Maybe she'll be so happy to see you, she'll skip the lecture."

He snorted. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Jane would have something to say, and she'd say it loudly. But maybe that was okay. He'd take a lecture over not hearing her at all.

Steve returned to the helicopter then, looking irritated and tired. "It's done. Stark's not happy about it, exactly, but he's given us the go-ahead to land…" Taking a seat across from him, he clasped his hands together and said, "Foster knows... I can't guarantee she'll be on the platform when we get there, but…"

He nodded. "She'll be there."

"You sure? She might need some time, to readjust…" Rogers warned, watching him worriedly.

Shaking his head, he repeated, "She'll be there. At the very least to yell at me."

"Well, it's something," Sam mused lightly.

Very faintly, his mouth tipped up at the corner. "Yeah, it is." And he'd take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, i got seriously sick, and then i found fleshing this out ended up making it way too long for the one chapter. so bucky's year with jane and darcy in puente antiguo will be at least one more chapter before he meets jane again in present time. this was a foundation building chapter, so the romance between darcy and bucky comes in more next chapter. this one was him just kind of figuring himself out and finding his groove within their lives. i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> thank you all for reading! please try to leave a review, if you can!
> 
> \- **lee | fina**


	6. You've Got a Friend in Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **visual aid(s)** : [character page](http://sarcasticfina.tumblr.com/slipping)
> 
>  **polyvore** : darcy [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=171844923)] [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=173890138)] [[3](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=173949263)] [[4](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=172587121)] [[5](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=173951302)] [[6](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=173953737)] [[7](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=173875782)] [[8](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_darcy/set?id=173877701)] | jane [[1](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=171845715)] [[2](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=173950187)] [[3](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=172587975)] [[4](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=173951675)] [[5](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=173952582)] [[6](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=173997429)] [[7](http://www.polyvore.com/slipping_away_from_myself_jane/set?id=173876690)]

**VI**.

[ **2007 – Puente Antiguo, New Mexico** ]

Exercise helped him focus. It kept his mind and body sharp, both of which he needed, constantly. Just because he wasn't going to be their tool, to point at whatever target they deemed fit, didn't meant he shouldn't still keep himself in peak condition. He wasn't sure if it was because he needed to be ready, in case they came for him, or if it was just a routine he was comfortable with, but it worked for him.

Darcy preferred yoga; she dug out Foster's spare mat and set them up on the roof of the building. Her laptop came with her and they went through a basic yoga instruction with music he found a tiny bit grating at first, but slowly became accustomed to. There was a soothing rhythm that came with yoga. Things were slow and calm, but he could feel the strength it required, the patience and the focus. It was also one of the few times Darcy didn't feel the need to interject her inner monologue into things. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Sometimes, when his mind was racing, he liked to have her chatter there to distract him, to draw his attention to her rather than to focus on the uncertainty still running rampant in his own brain. Other times, he enjoyed the quiet, listening to her breathing in between the music and the instructor in the YouTube video telling them what to do next.

Overall, it was one of his favorite parts of his daily routine. He looked forward to when Darcy would announce that it was 'yoga time' and wiggle her eyebrows at him expectantly before she changed into something more flexible and joined him on the roof. He kept his arm covered with a long-sleeved sweater, but she was much freer in stretchy pants and a top that showed off her shoulders and bare arms. She had to coat her skin in sun block before they started, keeping her pale complexion from burning up under the hot, desert sun. But there were still freckles that spattered her shoulders and across her cheeks; sometimes he thought about counting them.

Running was another way he kept himself focused. He'd started doing it in the morning, after he woke up from his nightmares. He'd returned to camp, still wrapped in a blanket, tired but still  _himself_ , to find Foster was sitting in a lawn chair, tying up a pair of sneakers. "Here," she said, placing a pair of brand new runners on the table. "Your boots are probably starting to get uncomfortable."

They were, had been for a while, but he'd been trained to ignore anything resembling discomfort or pain. So he hadn't said or done anything. The blisters and torn skin always healed anyway.

Eyeing the shoes, he looked back at her curiously, an eyebrow raised.

"We're going to take a run. I used to run track in high school and a little in college, before I got too busy. I know you don't like it when I'm out of view though, so I figured we'd just go together... If you're not too tired." She started stretching then, raising her arms above her head and twisting at the waist, all the while jogging in place.

He looked back to the shoes and then nodded. Plucking them up by the laces, he went to the van and crawled inside. He changed out of his clothes and into the sweat pants and hoodie Darcy had picked up for him when they'd begun yoga.

( _"Here."_

_Darcy dropped a bag onto the desk in front of him; two hoodies and two pairs of sweatpants, all black._

_"You can't do yoga in tac gear. Don't make that face. It's a gift. Friends get each other gifts. Are you my friend, Buckster?"_

_He understood the concept of friendship; he saw it between Darcy and Foster. He just hadn't thought to apply it to himself. Friendship was not something HYDRA had instilled in him. If anything, it was something they_ took _. But he'd been with Darcy and Foster for a while now. They never treated him like HYDRA did. They asked questions, encouraged him to join them for meals and late-night stargazing. They told him he could, and_ should _, say no if he needed to. They asked him how he was doing, and not in a 'what's your status?' way so much as a 'hey, you need anything, you want anything, how can I make you feel more comfortable?' way, which was getting less and less foreign._

_In analyzing her question, he tentatively nodded yes._

_Darcy grinned. In fact, she smiled for an hour solid; he didn't regret his answer_.)

Pushing the van doors open, he hung his legs out over the back as he pulled his shoes on and laced them up. They were white, which seemed incongruent to everything else he owned. He felt a little bad about stepping on the ground and absently decided he would clean them up when he got back. They were his. His shoes. And he would take care of them. Just like he took care of his new clothes and his make-shift bed in the back of the van. His things, what few he had, were precious to him.

Foster finished tying her hair up in a high ponytail and then pulled the zipper up on her grey sweater. "Ready?"

He nodded, hopping off the back of the van, lips pinching when dust kicked up to collect on the tops of his shoes. He shook it off and closed the doors behind him.

Foster kept an even pace with him. While he could go faster, he didn't. They kept to areas that weren't heavily populated, though at this time, that was most of the town. Just to be sure though, she directed them to where she knew there was little chance of anyone seeing them, and then looped back around toward camp once more. There was no talking, just the steady in and out of their breathing, the pounding of their feet hitting ground, and the rustle of arms pumping at their sides, shifting clothing as they went. It was relaxing. He still found his eyes bouncing around, checking for any signs they were being watched or followed, but the farther they ran without anyone to interrupt, the more at ease he felt.

By the time they reached the trailer, she was flushed, her skin mottled with exertion, and her hair clung to her neck. But she looked happy, more relaxed to start her day like this.

When they finally came to a stop back between the van and the trailer, she guzzled down some water and then started doing a few last stretches. He watched her for a moment before doing the same, content with the quiet and the cool morning breeze.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked him as she moved off toward the trailer for a shower, swiping an arm over her sweaty brow.

He nodded, and when she ducked inside and out of sight, he felt the faint twitch of a smile at his mouth. Making his way back to the van, he grabbed his clothes for the day and then went inside to use the bathroom there. But he found himself looking forward to the next day, to the opportunity for them to find common ground.

* * *

**…**

* * *

"I lost my dad when I was eight."

He turned his head, eyeing Darcy beside him, her legs dangling over the edge of the roof. She had a frozen drink in her lap, fingers tapping against the sweating plastic. ( _"It's a slurpee, Buck-a-roo. Pure sugar and addictive as hell. Here, try some!_ ") Her fingernails were recently painted a pale purple; they were blue with yellow polka dots last week. She didn't look at him as she spoke, instead squinting out over the New Mexico landscape, her lips pinched.

"We weren't super close. He and my mom broke up before I was even born. I'm pretty sure I was one of those 'whoops' moments that they just kind of went with. Anyway, dad was mostly like a weekend dad, you know? Mom used to complain that he got all the cool points because he never had to be the mean parent, but I never really saw it that way. Dad was a good guy. He didn't have a lot of rules or anything. He mostly just wanted us to hang out and have fun. Anyway, he died, it was really sudden, doctors said it an aneurysm. He didn't feel anything. One minute he was there and the next he wasn't. I was pretty young, but I got what it meant. That I'd never see him again and stuff. It was rough for a while. I'd forget and I'd start getting my stuff ready to stay with him for the weekend and then I'd remember that he wasn't there…" She bit her lips, her gaze falling. "Anyway, I know it's not like what you're going through. But, I figure, if you want to talk about it, about missing your family or your friends, or anything really…" She shrugged, and lifted her slurpee for another drag from the straw.

He didn't say anything, he just watched her out of the corner of his eye for a long moment. Eventually, she handed her slurpee over, and he accepted it, taking a sip of his own.

They passed it, back and forth, until there was nothing but colorless, sugarless ice at the bottom, and the sun setting in the distance.

"Thanks," he said, his voice a little rough.

She looked over at him, half-smiled, and nodded. "Sure. Any time."

The empty slurpee cup sat between them, but he was pretty sure a divide had been crossed, and he appreciated it.

* * *

**…**

* * *

Every morning when he returned to the site, Jane was waiting for him. Sometimes he showed up a little later, so he'd find her fiddling with her phone or reading a book, various pages marked off with sticky notes. She never asked questions, just climbed from her seat and started to stretch, waiting for him to get changed and join her. Almost three months he'd been with them, but even with the tentative acceptance Foster had offered, he still kept waiting for her to tell him it was time he moved on, went somewhere else. And he knew that would be smarter, for all involved. If he was moving, he had less chance of being caught. He'd thought it over a hundred times, falling asleep each night planning the places he could go, going over the plans he and Foster had put together. But then the next day would come and she would join him on his run and Darcy would ruffle his hair as she passed him a granola bar, and suddenly leaving felt like the worst choice.

So he stayed. He stayed and he told himself it was to make sure Jane and Darcy were safe, that there were no undercover HYDRA agents hiding in the desert somewhere. He did his patrols every day and he caught up on history and he told himself  _maybe tomorrow_  and  _one more week couldn't hurt_ and  _I promised Darcy I'd teach her to defend herself, she's not ready yet_. Excuse after excuse. Eventually, he knew, he'd run out, time would turn on him and he'd have to pack up his things and sink into the shadows.

He wondered sometimes, what life would be like, away from both HYDRA and Jane and Darcy. What kind of future did he have ahead of him? Would he always be hiding? Would he always be looking over his shoulder? Waiting for the next enemy to strike? Would he ever find anything quite as easy and comfortable as what he had now? He tried to pull his weight around the site, best he could. He thought they settled into a nice rhythm. Maybe this was the calm before the storm. Maybe when he did walk away, everything would crumble.

"Ready?" Jane asked, bouncing between her feet, water bottle dangling from her fingers.

He nodded shortly, and turned to join her as she started to jog.

Not yet, though.

Maybe tomorrow.

What could one more week hurt?

* * *

**…**

* * *

"Okay, pass me the oregano."

He blinked down at the clutter of spices in front of him, his lips pursed. "None of these are labeled," he told her.

Darcy looked over, frowning at the spice bottles. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, I just kind of memorized them." She shrugged. "Here, you know what, I'll teach you them." She reached for a bottle and unscrewed the top. "Sniff."

He leaned in and took a whiff, rearing back a bit.

"Oregano," she informed him, half-smiling. "Remind me to tell you the story of how my freshman roommate bought a bag of oregano thinking it was weed and convinced herself she was high for like three days straight…"

He blinked at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Story time later, cooking now," she decided.

He crossed his arms over his chest loosely and watched as she reached for odd bottles, holding them up for him to smell, pouring them into her palm so he could see them and get a feel for the texture, all the while teaching him how to cook as she went. Jane wasn't allowed near the oven, apparently. Not because she was a terrible cook so much as because she was easily distracted and would burn the whole place down around their heads. So the cooking mostly fell to Darcy, and she decided to give him a few lessons as she went. He wasn't complaining.

"We used to boil everything," he informed her, part memory and part something he'd ready online. His brow furrowed as a scent memory hit him, the smell of boiled cabbage making his stomach twist up unpleasantly. "I like your way better."

Darcy laughed lightly. "Yeah, I bet." She reached for the knife block then. "Okay, think you can cut up some tomatoes?"

He put the knife she offered back and grabbed out a different one, taking up a ripe red tomato and placing it on a cutting board. Knives were easy; knives were muscle memory and training. He diced up the tomato into precise cubes.

"All right, show off," she snorted with an eye-roll. "Celery too."

He ducked his head to hide his amusement and took the stocks of celery from her outstretched hand. He could get used to this.

* * *

**…**

* * *

"Hold this. Careful, it might spark," Jane told him, pointing out a few wires.

He frowned down at the inside of one of her machines, cracked open for her to get a better look inside. "Getting kinda old, isn't it?"

She scowled at him. "I built this one my freshman year of college," she informed him.

He was pretty sure that proved his point, so he just blinked at her.

"We don't get rid of things just because they've got a little age on them." She paused, mouth twitching. "If we did that, we wouldn't have  _you_  around."

He snorted, shaking his head when she looked pleased with her joke.

Jane tore off a piece of duct tape with her teeth and then reached inside, taking the wires from him so she could bind them. "See? She'll be good as new, just you wait."

She shuffled back on her knees and he lifted the machine up, carefully setting it upright so she could push buttons and fiddle with dials until it blinked back to life. She offered him a smug smirk, but he merely shrugged. He was just glad she trusted him enough to let him help.

Jane paused then, her eyes darting away. She took a moment to think something over and then, reaching some conclusion, told him, "Her name's Regina. I named her after my favorite aunt. Dad thought she was a crackpot, but I think she just had bigger ideas than some people could really wrap their heads around, you know?" She tugged at her fingers. "Anyway, I thought she'd like to be a part of this. She's the reason I went into astrophysics, even when everybody told me I shouldn't, that nobody would take me seriously and science 'wasn't a woman's field.'" She scowled at that, her teeth grinding.

He watched for a moment, and then looked back to Regina. "She'd be proud," he decided.

Jane looked over at him, brows raised. "You think?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a smart woman, walks her own path, you're doing the same. What's not to be proud of?"

Jane didn't answer, but he saw her throat bob, and then she nodded jerkily.

It wasn't long before she started mumbling to herself and wandered back to her board, but he lingered, staring at the old machine. It had a lot of patchwork, a ton of tape holding it together, and it would need more repairs in future. Sometimes it glitched or fell apart or stopped working entirely, but they fixed it, kept it, tried again.

He thought about that for a while.

He thought about it a lot.

* * *

**…**

* * *

Darcy entered the lab with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist, filled to the brim with junk food. She had a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose, the price tag still hanging from one of the arms. Her lips were wet and a darker shade than usual; the perpetrator was the red slurpee she held in her left hand. Humming along to the song she was listening to, one of her iPod buds still in her ear while the other hung down her chest, cutting across the writing there.

(" _Only one," he told her, "you need to be able to hear if someone's coming up on you_."

_Darcy rolled her eyes. "You know when I invited an assassin along, I thought he'd be more high-action not low-key dadding us."_

_He frowned after her, but when she took an earbud out as asked, he didn't bother arguing._ )

"Janey, I brought empty sustenance… The emptiness probably cancels out the sustenance part though, huh?" She shrugged. "Whatever. I'll make something extra healthy for dinner. Like with real vegetables and everything." She dropped the bag down on the desk he was sitting at and passed him her slurpee.

He took it, flexing his fingers at the chill, and sipped at the straw, his tongue dabbing curiously at the punctures in the plastic from her teeth.

Darcy dug out a chocolate bar and a bag of chips for him to snack on and put them within reach before she dug out Foster's Clif bar, a bottle of vitamin water, and a pack of licorice. Foster would work her way through the licorice over the course of the afternoon, he knew. He'd seen her do it before. She preferred the red to the black; she always made a face when she ate the black licorice.

Plucking a marker from one of Foster's hands, Darcy replaced it with the open Clif bar. " _Eat_."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah." Foster took a bite and then frowned, lurching forward to wipe out something on her white board with her arm instead of the eraser in reach.

Darcy rolled her eyes, a fond look on her face, and then wandered back to him and took a seat on the edge of his desk while she dug out her own chocolate bar. "So, I talked to Zach, and he said he's in for mocking you up some fake IDs and stuff. We talked about it before, but he's been kind of busy, and you and Jane have been working on your escape plans, so I didn't think we were in too much of a rush. Anyway, it's just an ID, social security number, and a passport, you know? But, I thought we should talk names and then take some pics…" She reached for him then and scrubbed her fingers over his chin. "It's up to you if you want to keep the scuff. Whichever you think will help keep your cover."

He paused, his chin feeling warm and tingly, and then looked down, staring at the slurpee for a moment. "What name will it be under?"

Darcy shrugged. "Up to you, Buckster. I mean, probably shouldn't go with your  _actual_ name… Unless you think that's just bold enough to work…" Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I should check how common your name is… It might just blend in. I mean, I know James is pretty common, but if Barnes is too…" She snorted. "How awesome would that be? Would they really expect to see your name on any flight plans? Probably not…"

He watched as her thoughts played across her face, and she smirked, shaking her head.

"Anyway, so we should figure out the name situation and then take your picture for the documents. Sound good?" She hopped off the desk and stole her slurpee, taking a drag before dropping it back into his hands.

She was half-way to her desk, when he cleared his throat. "Should I…?"

She looked back, her eyebrow raised. "Should you what?"

"Shave…" He reached up, tugging at the bristly whiskers that cloaked the lower half of his face. "Cut my hair."

Peering at him a moment, she finally walked back to him. "What do  _you_ want to do? You like it long?" Reaching out, she tucked his hair back from his face. "I've seen the pictures, so I already know you got a handsome mug under there. But, it's really what makes  _you_ comfortable, y'know? So if you feel better under the forest, keep it."

He nodded, his eyes dropping thoughtfully. And then he said, "Handsome, huh?"

She laughed, grinning widely, and winked at him. "I've got eyes, don't I? Don't pretend you didn't see your picture when I was playing historian. And I know you've peeked on Google. You're a hottie with a capital H, Buck-o."

He hummed, his mouth curving faintly at the corner. "You say so, doll."

"I do. And, as has been established, my word is law." She pointed at the desk then. "Now eat your junk food. I'm making vegetarian lasagna tonight."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Cheeky, Barnes. I like it." Turning on her heel, she returned to her desk, and got back to work, losing herself in data and collating for a while.

He, on the other hand, looked himself up on Google Images, and spent a good five minutes staring at the beard-less version of himself, his hair cut short and styled. The man on the computer had a tilted smirk, all confidence and easy charm. The man staring at him had none of those things. He was uncertain, suspicious, and paranoid. But maybe he didn't have to be him, maybe he didn't have to be exactly who he was, either with or without HYDRA. Maybe he could be someone else, someone in the middle, someone he was still figuring out.

A few hours later, while Darcy had traded in data for the kitchen, putting together a homemade lasagna while Foster mumbled to herself about things he only vaguely understood, he stole away to the bathroom. Darcy had bought him a shaver and cream when they'd first arrived at the new site. She'd loaded him up on all kinds of shower "necessities," but he'd kept to the basics.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a long time, his beard ragged and dark, his hair long, a shroud to hide his face behind. He ran the water hot, until steam crawled up and covered the mirror. Cupping his hands under it, he filled his palms with water and splashed them over his face. He left the razor under the spray to get the blades warm and he lathered his cheeks and chin with thick, white foam. It took him a minute before he picked up the razor, but he did. He wiped the mirror and he slowly shaved away all the grizzle from his face. There were a few nicks, with blood pearling on his skin, but he didn't stop. He kept going and going and going, until all of it was gone. Until some semblance of the man he once was stared back at him. He didn't cut his hair though. That would stay, for now, it made for better cover. But there was something good, something  _relieving_ , about seeing his face again, the whole of it, smooth like it once was. There was no tilted smirk hidden underneath it all, but maybe it would come back, one day.

Turning off the sink, he wiped up his mess with the towel and made his way back into the lab.

Darcy had just finished putting the lasagna in the oven and closed the door with a clang, before she turned, dusting her hands, and found him standing there, eyeing her uncertainly. He wasn't sure what he expected; her to make a joke or tease him or something.

Instead, she walked toward him, wiping her hands on her jeans. "What'd I tell you?" She reached up and patted his smooth cheek. "Capital H."

He swallowed and ducked his eyes, but something warm shifted in his chest.

"We gotta plug up those nicks though. C'mon, we'll put toilet paper on them."

"They'll heal," he argued, but he let her take his hand and drag him off toward the bathroom. Maybe he liked it, the way she thought of him.

She sat him down on the lid of the toilet and stood between the part of her knees as she picked off pieces of toilet paper to press against each nick on his cheeks and chin. He stared up at her, glasses sliding down the slope of her nose, lower lip caught between her teeth. She was a pretty little thing; all curves and sass and confidence. And empathy. Couldn't forget that. Couldn't forget how she took an assassin under her wing and offered to give him a new life. And loyal. Getting in between a bullet and her best friend, ready to meet her maker so Foster wouldn't. He swallowed thickly, peering up at her, biting down on the inside of his cheek as her fingers scrubbed under his chin.

"There," she said, and smiled.

He grunted, because words weren't possible at the moment.

She led him back out to the lab then and right over to Foster. "Check it out, our mountain man shed some fur."

Foster looked up. He could see the immediate irritation at being interrupted, but it faded quickly as she paused and blinked at him. Very slowly, her mouth tilted up in a smile. "You clean up well."

He shuffled his feet. "Just shaved," he muttered.

"Yeah, about seventy years off your face," Darcy snorted. "It looks good."

Foster rolled her eyes. "That's not funny," she sighed, and then looked back to him. "You like it?"

He shrugged.

"I'll take that as a yes." Her gaze moved up a few inches. "You ever want any help with your hair, I can cut it for you."

"Maybe later," he murmured.

Nodding, she slowly let her attention bleed back to the white board and Darcy took the hint. "C'mon, we're gonna take some selfies and then I'm gonna send some pics to send Zach for your papers," she told him, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket as she walked away.

"Selfies?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he followed her.

"Yeah. I wanna preserve this moment," she told him, grinning.

Darcy guided him over to the table and then ducked down so her head was next to his. "Smile for the camera."

He stared at her phone.

"Okay, we'll work on it."

He let out a snort, mouth tilted, and she hit the button again. "See?  _Progress_."

* * *

**…**

* * *

"I used to call him 'Punk.'"

Darcy looked up from the papers in front of her, a pink highlighter dangling from her fingers and her brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Rogers. Cap… Captain America," he clarified, frowning. "I called him 'punk' a lot. It… Sometimes I get confused. About what's a memory and what I read on the internet. But… I remember that. I used to call him 'punk' and he'd call me 'jerk.' His ma's name was Sarah. She was a nurse. And Steve, he… He got sick a lot. I know it says that online and in the books you got me. But, I can remember how it sounded… That rattle in his chest when he'd try to breathe. My ma said it was the 'death rattle,' but… Steve never let it take him. He never stopped fighting." He paused then, his eyes falling. "Until he did. I guess."

Putting the highlighter down, she pushed back from her desk and wheeled her chair over, letting it knock against his before she drummed her hands on the top of his desk. "So… What else do you remember?" she wondered.

He glanced at her and then away. "He was small. Real small. Ma used to give him twice as much food as the rest of us, always trying to fatten him up. Didn't work though. Didn't matter how much he ate, never stuck to his bones." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Didn't stop him from acting like he wasn't bigger though. Always getting into fights. Defending anybody he thought needed it."

"Sounds like a pretty stand-up guy," she mused.

"Yeah." He pursed his lips. "Was always pullin' his ass outta the fire though. Could start a fight no problem, had trouble finishing 'em though. Didn't know when to give up and walk away."

"Some people would call that brave."

"He was stubborn. Reckless." He blinked, then looked at her. "Like you, when we met."

Darcy smiled slowly. "Like I said… Brave."

He snorted, shook his head, but he felt his lips shift up in amusement. "Yeah, maybe."

Knocking her shoulder against his, she said, "Tell me more."

So he did. He told her everything he could think of. Everything that was slowly sifting back, piece by piece. Only the good stuff though. The pre-HYDRA stuff. Because the other stuff was hard, it was dark and dirty and made him feel too open, too vulnerable. Maybe one day. But not now. Now was a good moment. He wanted to keep it that way.

* * *

**…**

* * *

Darcy was doing a grocery run, leaving him behind with Foster. She was, as per usual, consumed with her work, while he was doing, what Darcy had dubbed, his "history homework." Avoiding much of his own past, he still managed to make it up to the sixties, getting a feel for what the country was like and how it was interacting with the rest of the world. He liked the pictures the most, they told a story. He could see how fashion and opinion had changed, how social awareness grew on certain topics. The world became more liberal on some points, and more conservative on others. It was an interesting see-saw if nothing else.

Abandoning his homework, however, he stood from his desk and moved toward the whiteboard.

Foster had various print outs of weather patterns pinned to the board with magnets and was squinting at them, tapping her chin with her finger.

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight to his other foot.

It took her a moment, but eventually, she looked over at him, a brow arched. "Hey. Something happen?" She took a look around, blinking owlishly. "Where's Darcy?"

"Grocery run," he murmured.

"Oh." She frowned, eyes turning up like she vaguely remembered being told that, and then shrugged.

"I was… Could we talk?" he asked, pursing his lips, his brow furrowed.

"Uh. Sure." She took a step back from the board and then motioned to the table. "You want coffee?" she wondered as she made her way to the coffee maker.

He shook his head, taking a seat at the table.

"You sure? I know you don't like drinking things unless Darcy's tested them first. Which, if I think about it, is really morbid. I mean… Technically, if they were poisoned, she'd be risking her life, right?"

He blinked. "She makes everything. I don't think she'd drink it."

"True. Unless someone at the gas station is HYDRA and decided to spike the slurpee machine, but that would be a pretty big risk considering how many use it and there's no guarantee she'd pick one up…" Her mouth screwed up thoughtfully. "So, wait, are you expecting  _her_ to poison you?"

He paused, and then shook his head.

"So then why…?"

He shrugged. "In the beginning, I wasn't sure…"

"But now you are? You don't think we're going to try and kill you?" She snorted at the idea.

He nodded, tucking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

"So Darcy…?"

"She wants to make me comfortable." He shrugged. "I let her."

Jane peered at him a long moment, and then her mouth turned up faintly. "Huh." Turning around, she poured her coffee, and then brought it to the table, stirring in cream and sugar. "So? What'd you want to talk about?"

"Darcy's friend, Zach, he sent the papers. They should be here on Wednesday," he informed her.

"Okay…" She stirred her coffee, her eyes turned off. "And you're… You want to talk about which plan to use, or…?"

"I…" He looked down at the table. One of his hands left the pocket to pick at a dent in the table top absently. "In the morning, when you go for your runs…"

She nodded, encouraging him.

"Why'd you invite me?"

She stared at him a moment, gave it some thought, and then said, "I thought it would help."

He raised a brow, the question of ' _Help?'_ was obvious.

"Your nightmares… I can hear you sometimes, from the trailer. And then, when you get up, and you go for your walks… I understand why you do it, why you leave, because you're worried you'll wake up and you won't… have  _control_. And I… I appreciate it, that you go and you try to put distance between us, because I think, in your own way, you're trying to keep us safe…"

She frowned, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Ever since Darcy talked to you and this… this  _thing_ with HYDRA was revealed, you've been watching out for us. I don't know if that's just a way to apologize or to make up for it or what, but…" She blew out a heavy breath. "I looked you up. Or, well, I looked James Barnes up. I mean, I vaguely remember him from my high school history classes. And, I don't know if I completely believed before, even with all the evidence. I mean, you look  _remarkably_ like him, but, still… It was a lot to take in. So, I looked it up and, I don't know. I… I don't want you think that I pity you, because that's not what this is. But when I think about what your life was like, what you had, before all this, and what you have now, what they did to you, it… It makes me sad, yes, but more than that, it makes me  _angry_." Her jaw clenched. "I'm angry about what happened when you were captured the first time. That you were forced to continue with the ARMY and, yes, I know, I  _know_ that part of that was just you, deciding to join Captain America's team, and that you're part of the reason that we even won the war. But… When I look at you, I'm not thinking of history or the war, not really. I'm looking at a  _person_. A person who was stolen and used and treated like he wasn't human at all. And that—That is  _gross_ and disturbing and just— It's  _fucked up_."

Her mouth was trembling, whether from anger or a flood of other emotion, he wasn't sure. But she banged a fist down on the table and, for such a tiny woman, there was still enough power behind it that rattled the table loudly. "Sorry. I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I just. I hear you at night. I hear the terror and the pain in your voice. And then I hear you, when you get out of the van and you go for your walks. And I wish… I wish there was something more we could do. Someone you could talk to about these things. But I just… I've been thinking about this, you know? And who do we  _trust?_ Who do we trust that won't turn you over to HYDRA or put you through even more pain trying to take apart what you went through with them? Because, let's face it, the United States government is full of suspicious, paranoid assholes, and the chances of them getting you real help, like with a psychologist or anything, is close to impossible. It's more likely they'll throw you in a hole at GITMO and interrogate you. So no. No, we're not going to them." She rubbed her fingers over her mouth, her brow furrowed. "But the more I think about it, the less happy I am with sending you out there on your own. And yes, I know, you're an adult and you make your own choices and if you really want to go, I… I won't stop you." She raised her eyes then and met his gaze sincerely. "I'll never stop you from making whatever choice you think is right for you. But… if you need more time. If… If you want to stick around here a little while longer… Then, that's okay too."

He stared at her a long moment, letting her words sink in. Darcy was usually the talker. Jane mumbled when she was thinking, but conversation wise, she only really got this worked up about science and the greater universe. It felt… nice to matter as much.

"I'm dangerous," he reminded her. Just in case she'd forgotten that while, yes, he had been under HYDRA's control, used and broken, he was still a  _tool_ , honed to hurt and kill with precision. He was no angel. He was far from it.

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "You are." She met his eyes. "But what you choose to do with that, how you choose to use it, that's up to you. And I… I trust you to make the right choice."

He swallowed tightly then, his throat burning. It took him a few moments before he could form the words, but eventually he wondered, "What if I don't?"

She reached across the table slowly, and laid her hand on top of his. Jane wasn't often free with her physical affection; she made what few touches she offered count. "Then you fix it, and you start over."

He nodded, a jerk of his head more than anything, and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. "I'd like to… I wanna stay… For now…"

A slow, gentle smile crossed her lips. "Okay. Then stay."

Throat too tight then, he just nodded, turning his eyes down to the tabletop.

Jane tapped her fingers over the back of his hand and then let go. "I'm going to get some work done. But why don't you see what's playing at the drive-in theatre tonight? We can watch it on the roof. Make some popcorn, relax, that kind of thing."

He rubbed a hand under his nose and sniffed. "Yeah. I'll look." The chair legs scraped on the floor as he moved it back and stood, making his way over to the computer. Technology was getting easier and he was navigating things a lot quicker than he used to.

Jane returned to her white board and let him gather himself. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and folded his fingers into his palm when his hand shook. He hadn't realized how worried he was about going out on his own until that moment. He'd found safety and comfort in Jane and Darcy, but he also knew that it was temporary. Especially when Jane was still suspicious of his motives. But maybe he'd earned her trust more than he thought. Maybe Darcy wasn't his only friend.

* * *

**…**

* * *

They were dancing. Jane and Darcy were moving all around the lab, ducking under each other's arms, twirling in every direction, holdings hands and shimmying to and fro. There were off beat, just a little, but they were having fun. The song was upbeat, and Darcy had shouted excitedly, tossing her pen away before pushing back from her desk. She crossed the room, grabbed Jane's hand, and pulled her into a dance. Jane laughed at Darcy's antics and let herself be swept up in it. He watched, hiding a smile behind his hand. They were happy and carefree and laughing. He wondered how often that happened before he'd come into their lives. If dance breaks were just a part of the package.

He could remember dancing. Trying to teach Steve, with his two left feet, a few simple moves. He could remember the rush he'd get, out on the dancefloor, swinging some pretty dame around, losing himself to the quick beat of the music. If he closed his eyes, he was back there. In a smoky lounge, in a dance hall, sweat dotting his skin, making his clothes cling to him, adrenaline rushing through his veins, his lungs burning with exertion, laughing so hard he was wheezing. The music of before was so close, and then it was gone, melting back into the here and now. Where there were no crowds of bodies all around him, no dame under his arm, no Steve trying to blend into the background, uncomfortable with his lack of date, awkwardly nursing a beer.

It all faded away, until he was looking at just Darcy and Jane again. Jane's head thrown back as she laughed and Darcy's lips spread wide in a grin. One song ended and another began and they danced, work forgotten for the time being. He was happy for them, even as something melancholy burrowed into his chest. The past was the past, that was what he tried to tell himself, but it was hard. He wanted to know, he needed to know, even if he could never have it again. Because it was his and it had been taken from him once.

Eventually, the music was turned down and Jane returned to her work, still flushed and riding the high of their dance break.

Darcy wandered over to him, and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "You okay, Buck? You look a little lost."

He nodded, because he couldn't quite answer, wasn't even sure what he'd say if he opened his mouth.

She hummed, and rubbed a knuckle over his temple gently. "C'mon… I've got a chocolate stash we can raid. I need some fresh air too. Join me on the roof?"

He was pushing up from his seat before he gave it much thought. Jane was already deep in science mode, and he'd done a patrol not long ago, so he was sure she'd be fine for now.

Darcy took his hand and towed him through the kitchen, digging out a bag behind a stack of rice cakes. ( _"Jane hates those things, that's why it's the perfect place to hide the chocolate. She won't even touch them to move them out of the way," she told him proudly._ ) Chocolate in hand, she made her way up to the roof, grabbing a loose blanket as she went. She dug out her lawn chair from where it was kept, folded up, and dragged it over to where she wanted. He joined her, taking a seat in Jane's chair at her side. Darcy spread the blanket out over both their laps and then poured a few individually wrapped chocolates out for each of them. She dug the Twix out from his pile and traded it for her KitKats, just like she always did.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked, after a few minutes had passed with nothing but the rustle of wrappers being removed.

He considered it for a moment, but then shook his head. Sometimes he didn't need to put it into words, sometimes he just needed to let it sit, let it sink in, and he was good.

"Okay," she said, "but if you ever want to…"

"I know where to find you."

She smiled slowly. "Good." She reached over and knocked her Oh Henry! against his KitKat. "Cheers."

He stared at her out of the corner of his eyes, and let out a little snort of a laugh. Sinking down in his chair a bit, he turned his gaze up to the night sky, a blanket of stars reaching as far as he could see. "I used to like dancing," he told her.

"Yeah?"

He hummed.

"You're gonna have to break out some of your moves for me some day then," she decided, mimicking his pose and letting her head fall back against the chair.

Lips twitching, he told her, "Might not be able to handle my moves, doll."

She laughed, and turned her head to see him. "Big words, Barnes."

He shrugged with faux modesty, a shadow of something he could remember doing, once upon a time.

Her eyes skittered all over his face, reading things he wasn't trying to broadcast. But she'd been able to do that for a while now, whether he thought he was hiding well or not.

"One day, when you're ready, I'd like to be your first dance," she told him.

He stared back at her, reading the soft sincerity in her gaze, and he nodded. He'd like that, he decided.

She nodded back, and then, together, they returned their attention to the stars. But his mind wandered elsewhere. Not back, not to his past, not to dance halls or lounges or big band songs, no. It went to the future, to an unknown point in time when he would be ready, and he'd reach his hand out, ask for a dance, and she would accept. One day, he'd be ready.

* * *

**…**

* * *

He woke abruptly, but not because of a nightmare or a memory. Instead, he felt a shift, something out of place, something moving close by that shouldn't be moving. He pulled a gun from beneath his pillow, flipped the safety off and carefully climbed from the bed he made in the back of the van. Darcy had taken personal offense that he was using a sweatshirt for a pillow, so what was once a very simple set up was now a collection of brightly colored blankets on top of an air mattress, and a few different pillows of varying sizes and shapes. It had taken him a while to get used to, the blankets too soft and the bed too squishy. But he'd adapted, and now the bright colors brought an odd sense of color. HYDRA wouldn't have let him have them before. He was meant to blend, to sink into shadows, to go unseen. He was a tool to be brought out and put away at their convenience. That wasn't the case here. Which was why he was feeling especially protective as he popped the door open and silently slunk his way out.

All of his anger and the instinct to attack and protect evaporated, however, when he found Jane sitting in a lawn chair, bundled up in a pea coat and her pajama pants, her head tilted up to stare at the sky. Every exhale had a white cloud collect in the chilly night air. There was a steaming cup on the table beside her elbow; he would put his money on tea rather than coffee. Darcy preferred hot chocolate, but she always used a recipe she never shared the details of. (" _It's a family secret. Which means you'll just have to enjoy it when I make it and miss it when I don't."_ )

He put his gun away, out of sight, and walked toward Jane slowly, careful not to disturb her quiet, but curious about why she was up so late. Jane was a creature of habit. She either slept exactly seven hours a night, or she went on a science bender for a few days and Darcy had to convince her to fix her sleep schedule before she returned to her lab. He was always the last to go to bed and the first to wake up; in part because sleep was difficult for him, but also because he preferred knowing where they were before he closed his eyes.

"I fell in love with the stars when I was three years old," she said, her voice a little rough.

She reached absently for her mug and sipped from it, burying her nose in the steam. Definitely tea. Her favorite was orange pekoe, but he remembered Darcy mentioning she had to pick some up, so it was likely English Breakfast.

"There was just something fascinating about it… About this huge universe out there that we couldn't even  _begin_ to understand…" She shook her head. "I remember sitting in my backyard, trying to count them all. I'd fall asleep like that, right there in the grass, and then I'd try against the next day, and the next… And I'd be proud when the number got higher and higher, like I was doing something worthwhile. Like, one day, I'd be able to tell someone I knew exactly how many stars there were, because I'd counted them all." She smiled slowly, light and thoughtful.

He took a seat in the chair across from her and waited for her to continue.

"When I got older, I remember people telling me that I should pick something different to study. That it would be too hard, too male-dominated, too  _something_. That I wouldn't fit somehow, like I couldn't make it in this world. And, I remember, there was a moment, back in high school, when I really let it get to me. When I was thinking about dropping out of AP Physics and doing something else.  _Anything_ else. But then my Aunt, you remember the one I told you about?"

"Regina."

"Yeah. Aunt Regina. Anyway, she called me, just out of the blue. She called me up and she was ranting about this project she was doing. I didn't understand even half of what she was saying. It went completely over my head. But at the end, I remember she said, 'I can always count on you to listen, Janey. You're just like me. You never let anybody tell you what you can or can't do.' And I just  _knew_. I knew that if I dropped Physics, I would regret it. I would spend my whole life letting other people tell me what I should do or who I should be and I didn't want that…" She snorted quietly. "And I know it's not a shining endorsement that we're sitting in the middle of a desert in New Mexico and I have  _nothing_ to show for all my work, and there are more than a few people in the science community who probably laugh when they hear my name. But…  _fuck them_." Her lips pursed then and she lifted her head to look at him. "Fuck all of them. Because I'm going to prove all of them wrong. Every one of them."

He read the fire in her eyes like it was a physical thing, like it could burn him if he stared too long.

"I might be crazy. I might be one more crazy theory away from being the crackpot my dad thought my aunt was. But so what? At least I'm out here doing something I love!" She nodded then, looking certain and serious. "That's the part they don't teach you. That it might not pay well, that you might spend your  _whole_  life searching and never really finding. But maybe that's the point. Maybe  _looking_ is all I'm supposed to do. Maybe my looking leads to someone  _else_ finding. I don't know. I don't. But I know that HYDRA thought I was on to something. HYDRA wanted to take me out because they saw something or read something and it made sense. And maybe that should worry me more, but you know what? Fuck them too! Because I'm still here, I'm still alive, and whatever they didn't want me to find? I'm going to find it!"

She sat back in her chair then, shoulders a little slumped and her expression tight with agitation.

He watched a long moment, and then his mouth slowly turned up in a smile.

Jane frowned, raising an eyebrow.

But he just shook his head. Stacking his hands on his stomach, he tipped his head back to admire the stars, and he murmured, "Fuck 'em."

And Jane blew out a faint chuckle and said, "Exactly."

* * *

**…**

* * *

"You're getting better," he told her, lips pursed.

Darcy grinned up at him, gun in hand. "Right? Three out of five ain't bad," she said, eyeing the remaining two beer bottles sitting on the fence in the distance. "And I'm like ninety percent sure that I at least  _winged_ one of those."

"A 'winged' enemy can still shoot," he reminded, moving behind her. His hand covered hers as he raised the gun and their cheeks pressed together as he lined up the shot. He tapped her hand once, twice, and she took each shot, removing the last two bottles. "You don't stop shooting until they're all down." His breath fanned over her skin.

She shivered, her eyes darting to the right to see him. "Was it like this for you? I guess you learned in the ARMY, huh?"

"Some of it. Some I learned with HYDRA." His lips compressed into a thin line. "Can't say either was too gentle."

"This what you call gentle, Buck-a-roo?" She shifted, leaning back against him, her head falling to his shoulder as she looked at him. "Are you taking it easy on me?"

"I'm teaching you. Fear might be a good motivator for the ARMY and HYDRA, but I don't want you scared. I want you capable."

His hand was on her far hip, he realized, holding her steady, and he was bracing her, the curve of her body cradled against his. His breath stuttered a moment and he found his eyes wandering from her eyes down to her mouth. She was wearing lipstick; a bright, vivid red.  _Makes me feel like a badass_ , she'd told him. He thought it made her look more tempting than badass. Temptation wasn't something he'd had to think about much lately. But there it was, spelled out in front of him, just as stunning as ever.

"So what happens when I master the gun?" she wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Hand-to-hand?"

"If that's what you want," he said, his gaze raising to meet hers once more. "You planning on sticking with Foster after I'm gone?"

Darcy shrugged. "You've seen her when she's on a science bender. Someone has to keep her skinny butt safe."

He hummed, and then looked away. "I'm staying. For a little while anyway. Jane said I could."

"I heard. Careful, she'll take you on as another unpaid intern. She'll have you collating data and making her Poptarts in no time," she teased.

His mouth twitched. "Always burn the Poptarts."

Darcy laughed; he could feel her body shake with it and his own warmed at the sensation. "I think you do it on purpose. So you won't have to make them next time."

He bit his lip and she knocked her elbow back against him.

"You  _do,_ don't you! Oh, that's smart, Barnes. Seriously sneaky. Well played."

His eyes wandered back to her, amused and a little proud of himself. "She eats too many of those anyway. Sugar's not good for her."

"Says the guy who never passes up on a slurpee," she reminded, rolling her eyes.

"Maybe I just like sharing things with you."

Her eyes brightened and she inhaled a little sharply. "Good thing I like to share then, huh?"

"Mmm."

There was a moment then, when neither of them said anything, just caught up in looking at each other. There was a thread of something potent, thick with tension, that coiled between them. He knew how to break it. He knew that if he just leaned in, if he let him sink into the plush shape of her mouth, she wouldn't reject him. She'd meet him kiss for kiss. But he also knew that here, with her, with Jane, this was his support system. The only one he had. And he couldn't risk that. Not to mention, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Darcy deserved a lot more than a fractured soldier still putting himself back together.

So he let the moment pass, let it dampen, and then he was letting her go and stepping back. He was putting five new bottles up on the fence and he was putting a little more space between them. "Again," he told her.

And Darcy didn't complain or call attention back to what happened, no. She just smiled at him, like she wasn't upset, wasn't even surprised. She cocked her gun and she raised it up and she squeezed the trigger. Four of five went down. She shot twice more and took the fifth bottle out. She didn't pause. Enemy neutralized.

He nodded, and looked back just in time for her to wink at him. Temptation was a beautiful intern with a heart of gold and lips as red as sin.

* * *

**…**

* * *

He liked the older movies; sometimes they were in black and white, other times they were in a muted color compared to the modern movies. Jane liked the oldies too. She mouthed along to every word of  _Breakfast at Tiffany's_  and  _Casablanca_  looking completely enraptured with every scene. Darcy liked some of them, but she was a picky watcher, scrunching her nose up at things that didn't jive with her modern view of the world. She'd sent him more than a few links on feminism, so he could see where she was coming from. For him, there was a nostalgia rush. He didn't always know why, maybe it was the fashion or the way they talked, but some of it felt so familiar that he was filled with a mix of sadness and joy.

He tuned out sometimes, his mind wandering into spotty memories of a time long-past, of people and faces he didn't quite recognize, voices that sparked something only to slip out of reach. And then, just as soon as it was on him, he would slide back into reality, with Darcy and Jane bickering at his back, sharing a bowl of popcorn that was "too buttery" or "not buttery enough" depending on who'd made it and who was complaining. It amused him more often than not.

He wasn't sitting so close to the edge of the roof anymore. His shoulders were leaned back against Darcy's right and Jane's left knee. When Darcy wasn't into a movie, she'd play with his hair. Sometimes she braided it or put it up in a bun and other times she just let her fingers sift through it. He liked that. Liked how she was always reaching for him and touching him and it never hurt. There was just soothing motion, a reminder that she was there,  _they_ were there, and they wouldn't do anything he didn't want. Sometimes he couldn't handle any stimulation and he would lean away. She didn't push; she just gave him his own blanket and a mug of hot chocolate and let him be. But he was seeking it out more lately, the comfort and warmth of her, of them, just in different ways.

Jane tapped his shoulder before she handed him his own bowl of popcorn and a salt shaker to add as much or as little at his discretion.

" _Darcy_ ," she sighed, "where did you even get that?"

"Thrift shop. Isn't it awesome?"

"What do you need with a beer hat?"

"Who  _doesn't_ need a beer hat?"

Jane didn't answer, but he imagined she was frowning.

"Look, I haven't been to the bar in  _ages_. I have to get my drink on  _somehow_ …"

"When did you pick up beer?" Jane wondered.

"Oh, I haven't. Not yet. Didn't have time. This is cherry coke. Here, have a taste."

"No. I don't want a tas—" There was muffled noise.

"Good, right?"

"You can't just shove things in people's mouths. It's unsanitary."

"Lots of things are unsanitary," Darcy dismissed. "You don't want my germs, Janey? Should I be offended?"

Jane sighed, long and suffering. "What'd I ever do to the universe that it brought you into my life?"

"Maybe one of your past lives was an especially good person, deserving of a reward."

He laughed under his breath, and Jane must've heard him because she nudged his leg with her foot. Not so much a 'shut up' as it was an 'I heard that.' He'd been kicked before, he remembered, for not following orders. It was interesting to see how different the same action could be when the person cared. A friendly nudge, careful not to cause real damage.

The movie started up in the distance then, and Jane decided to drop the argument. "It's starting,  _shh_."

"We've already seen this one twice," Darcy pointed out, tossing popcorn in the air and leaning around to catch it in her open mouth.

"So? It's a classic."

"You say that about all of these movies." At Jane's glare, she held up a hand in surrender. "Okay, fine, shutting up."

He smiled to himself and reached for the volume dial on the radio, turning it up a little. Despite her complaints, Darcy hummed along to the songs, and Jane sighed at every romantic moment. While it wasn't one of his favorites, it was still good, and he soaked up every night like this. Eventually, they would be a distant memory, one he planned to hold on to tightly, so for the time being, he'd enjoy every second he had while he had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, there's still one more chapter before a jane/bucky reunion. i just enjoy fleshing out their friendship. there's tentative darcy/bucky romance in this chapter, but things find their groove more in the next chapter. i hope you enjoyed this. i had a lot of fun working on the jane/bucky friendship and the darcy/bucky relationship. more of bucky's personality is coming out now and becoming more vocalized as he finds his footing and considers the van his home and darcy and jane his 'people' of sorts, so it's fun to work more of his voice into things rather than have most of it play out in his head. anyway, i hope to have the next chapter up a lot sooner, and maybe even wrap this up before i start back at university. :)
> 
> thank you all for reading! please try to leave a review, if you can!
> 
> \- **lee | fina**


End file.
